


you're beautiful.

by IWasBeingArtcastic



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Gen, So Much Snark, Vignettes, a whole lotta Angst™, also lots of swears, and also murder, and regular teenage and friendship issues, and snark, and some doubtless abusiveness so just be warned, lots of slice of life, mostly follows the musical's plot with a bit of the movie mixed in here and there, some fluff and sex sprinkled throughout, spoilers obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10083434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWasBeingArtcastic/pseuds/IWasBeingArtcastic
Summary: The events of Heathers as told by a series of vignettes from Veronica's perspective.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I said series weren't my thing. But I've been working on these in bulk, so I think I'm prepared to start. Besides which, spring break is approaching and I know I'm going to find myself bored, so I'll write some more then. 
> 
> Long story short, I arrived late to the party for a certain Netflix sci-fi series, so I binged the episodes last weekend. As a result, I've fallen hopelessly back in love with Winona Ryder and realized that my Heathers phase is not, in fact, over.  
> So I'm taking the movie into account a lot more here, both in events and characterization, and hoping to draw a balance between the two.  
> If you've seen either, you'll probably still be able to comprehend what's going on, but I'm just putting this here as a disclaimer. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

Veronica has only ever been to a legitimate beauty salon once in her life, for someone's birthday party back in the seventh grade. She remembers it smelling strongly of hairspray, and the staffing consisting entirely of Asian twenty-something women, all of whom were unenthusiastic. (Veronica had assumed it was because they were sick of inhaling the fumes.) 

She had spent enough time in a chair for her leg to have fallen asleep, and was subject to a fair amount of hair pulling. The final product, she recalled, had her resembling a babydoll for three days. 

But when placed in comparison to the girl's bathroom, that salon was the lap of luxury.  
Not only is the room ripe with the stench of hair product, but the faint aroma of vomit ("How else do you think i keep up this weight?" Duke says, "Exercising is a waste of time.") makes Veronica more than a little bit queasy. 

Besides which, Heather Chandler attacks her hair with a ferocity that should only be reserved for slaying a dragon. Veronica tries to keep a straight face, but a particularly nasty knot has Heather basically beating her upside the head with the hairbrush, and she's no longer able to remain quiet.  
"C-Could you tone it down a little there?"

"Well, if you're gonna bitch about it, then you can find someone else," Heather replies, unfazed. "God, it's like something curled up and died in your hair. I've never seen so many split ends."

She calls for McNamara, who just so happens to have a pair of scissors which clearly were not made for the purpose of hair-cutting.  
Also in her possession is a magazine, which she flips through urgently. 

"Oh my God, there's this really cute cut in the new issue of Seventeen-"  
"August or September?" Chandler interjects.  
"August. September's not out for a few weeks. Here it is! Think you could do that?"

Veronica's always worn her hair to her back, but this barely touches her shoulders. The thought of parading around like that makes her feel oddly naked.

"Pffft. Child's play." Chandler grabs the scissors and begins working before Veronica can even consent. 

The end result isn't actually all that bad. She gains a newfound respect for Heather, because she's certain there's no way the mall hairdresser could have imitated that haircut successfully. 

"You're lucky your skin is so pale," Chandler comments. "You could really pull off whatever hair color you wanted."

"No, I like the dark hair," Duke says, "The contrast is nice."

Veronica misses both English and Calculus in favor of having a mountain of concealer and an obnoxious shade of magenta lipstick applied to her, but in the end, it's worth it.  
Without all the acne, she's actually passably pretty. 

"Huh. Who would've thought?" McNamara retrieves her magazine and smiles sunnily. "Honestly, you're beautiful." 

"Now, what did you say your favorite color was?" Chandler inquires. 

"Uh, blue?"

Duke snickers. 

Chandler raises an eyebrow. "Elaborate."

Veronica shrugs. "I don't know. Midnight blue, I guess?"

"Tough shit; you're ultramarine. The lunch bell rings in two minutes - are you coming or not?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET IN, LOSER. WE'RE GOING SHOPPING. 
> 
> And so our heroine starts to become the mask...  
> I'm spacing these out a little bit more as far as timing goes, so I'm thinking the story will conclude in late November or early December. I never got the impression that the story happened in the course of a few weeks, because that's not nearly enough time for two people to fall in and out of love, and for three people to die.  
> So I'm picturing this one happening about two weeks after the first chapter? 
> 
> Anyways, only one more chapter after this and I swear we'll get into the actual story.  
> Enjoy!

It's morning, the Monday of some godforsaken History test, when Veronica hears an obnoxiously loud honk from outside and rudely awakens. 

She moans and covers her ears with her pillow. The honk is followed by several more, so at first, she perceives it to be someone's car alarm. 

Then the sound changes from several short honks to one long, seemingly endless groan. She finally resolves to get up and trudges to the window, prepared to tell Nathan, the Freshman next door who had recently received his learner's permit, to knock his shit off. 

Instead, she draws open the curtain to find a bright red Porsche parked right outside her house. She wasn't aware that the whole "popular" package came with free transportation. It would have been very convenient had it not been six AM. 

She shrugs on a sweater and a skirt, grabs her backpack, and rushes out the door.

"About fucking time." Heather Chandler drums her manicured fingers on the steering wheel. She looks as if she smelled something awful. "You're not showing up in that, are you?" 

"Well, I am planning on showing up, so I really didn't have time to coordinate." Veronica squeezes into the backseat. 

"No way, girlfriend." Heather Duke shakes her head. "Like hell I'm going to be seen with someone wearing argyle." 

"School can wait. I have a fourty dollar Limited card I've been meaning to use, anyways." Chandler starts the engine back up. 

"Wha- No! I have a history test first period. I was up studying all last night." She looks over at McNamara. "You're in my History class, right? You'd be missing that, too."

"Oh gosh, I forgot all about that," McNamara says, but her tone implies that she doesn't particularly care.

"If it's that important to you, then feel free to take the bus." Heather Chandler adjusts her mirror, reapplying lipstick. She smacks her lips together, then turns her head to look at Veronica with a glare that could freeze over a lake.  
"But you'll find that certain things in life are far more important than the French Revolution, one of which being your wardrobe. I hate to break it to you and your hat collection, but yours needs work. Either you ride with us, or you can forget ever sitting with us again. Take your pick."

It's odd how Heather's a seventeen year old girl, but she can be as intimidating as a drill sergeant if so she wants. Veronica gulps and complies.

It's only when she's knee deep in overpriced shoes that Veronica remembers that she and Martha were supposed to have presented an English project that day.  
When Martha calls her that night, Veronica sniffles and feigns illness.

"Oh, you sound awful! I hope you feel better soon. Don't worry - I presented it by myself. It was, um, a little rough, but I think it went pretty well."

She doubts it. Poor Martha was probably scared shitless having to stand up and talk all by herself. She can picture her tripping over her words and fighting back tears, an image that causes Veronica to feel a flush of guilt.

"'I'll-" She remembers that she's supposedly sick and coughs before resuming. "I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise."

"Oh no, you're fine. Just get some rest, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." 

She mumbles "thanks" and hangs up shortly after.  
Has she ever lied to Martha before? She can't think of a time in recent memory. Not a week had passed since she had "befriended" the Heathers, and here she is, already telling lies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ Obligatory Sleepover Chapter ~~
> 
> No, this does not contribute to the overarching plot, other than showing some stirring animosity between Veronica and her color-coordinated girl posse. Still, sleepover fics are fun.  
> And no, I'm not at all sorry for the McNamawyer teasing. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

As far as Veronica had been aware, "sleepover" entailed a movie, Jiffy Pop, and the satisfaction gained from having been valiant enough to remain conscious until three. If she had expected that, then she's sorely disappointed. 

The Heathers' definition of sleepover seems to be drinking absurd amounts of cheap vodka right out of the bottle and partaking in an increasingly ruthless game of truth or dare. 

"Sawyer, you're up."

"Am I now?" She misspells a word and erases it, not bothering to look up.

"Mmmhm." Chandler takes another swig and slams the bottle down. "Truth or dare?"

She decides to play it safe. "Truth."

"What do you write in there?"

She looks up, clicking her pen. "Why do you want to know?"

McNamara points an accusatory finger at her. "You can't respond with a question. S'against the rules."

Veronica closes her diary and holds it to her chest. "Shit, I don't know. Venting, usually."

"Venting about what?"

_Mostly you. _"Mostly people." She decides to leave it vague and attempts to drop the subject. "Whatever. Who's up next?"__

"Wait wait wait." Duke pipes up, having been seemingly comatose until now. "Are we in there?"

"Somewhere, probably. Most people are." It's not a flat yes, but it's enough for Duke to snatch the book out of Veronica's hands, only for Chandler to slap Duke and grab it while she's down.  
She opens it, and the other two swarm around her like flies, giggling devilishly.

"Fucking- give it back!" Veronica aims for a tackle, but Heather holds it out of her reach and she faceplants on the carpet. 

"Wow, your handwriting is shit. I can't even read it." Chandler flips through the pages until McNamara grabs it.  
"Nuh-uh. It's different here." 

Damn, she really needed to stop the whole "sarcastically-imitating-people's-handwriting" thing.

Heather McNamara quirks an eyebrow. "Did Ms. Lortwitz write in here?"  
Duke squints her eyes and examines the page. "I don't know, I really doubt she'd call herself a 'fourty-seven year old virgin.'" 

"I wrote it, dipshit." Veronica says into the floor, before finally managing to upright herself. 

Even Heather Chandler seems impressed. "Goddamn, girl. That's some crazy accuracy right there." 

"Ooh ooh ooh! Do me!" McNamara beams, thrusting the journal at her suddenly.

Veronica sighs, flips to a fresh page, and inscribes Heather's name in cutesy cursive with excessive curlicues. Then she rips out the page and awaits judgement. 

"Gosh, that's spooky. How do you do it?" Heather's eyes widen. "Is it magic?"

"The magic of observation," Veronica replies drily. "Now who's fucking turn is it?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO IT BEGINS. 
> 
> Yes, the plot has arrived. Sorry for the delay.  
> I kinda crafted my own interpretation on this one, simply for the sake of mystery and to space time out a bit.  
> But hoo boy, just look at all this UST. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!!

In the weeks that follow, they abuse her forgery skills to a maddening degree,  
and when the semester comes down to the homestretch, Veronica has four english term papers to write, and only one of them is hers. 

One October night, she's up at two AM still slaving away at making each paper sizably different than the others and realistically dumb. 

It'd be easy for her to genuinely analyze the themes present in The Crucible, but she finds it harder to dumb down her vocabulary and argue that "this whole thing could have been avoided if everyone stopped being stupid and realized that witches aren't even a real thing."

She wakes up an hour past when she should have left for school, still at her desk and using a large stack of papers as a pillow. When people ask her about the blot of blue ink on her cheek, she mutters something about a bold fashion statement. 

Not two hours into the day, she's out cold in calculus, and it takes Ms. Lortwitz three tries with increasing volume to wake her. Immediately after, she's subject to the awkward silence that follows being prompted to answer question three, which she hadn't even been conscious to hear. 

Somebody coughs. A few people giggle.  
She forces out a "well..." and a few "um..."s, and hopes Ms. Lortwitz will take a hint, but the bitch is relentless. 

"Fifty-two." she hears an unfamiliar voice behind her mutter.

"Fifty-two!" Veronica blurts, a bit more loudly than she had intended to.  
Whoever's behind her chuckles in response.  
Further examination of the problem reveals that there's no plausible way the answer could have been fifty two.  
_Fuck. _  
Everyone else erupts into laughter.__

__One "Everyone, quiet down!" and a dirty glare (courtesy of Ms. Lortwitz) in Veronica's direction later, the class continues._ _

__"Great answer," she murmurs between gritted teeth.  
"I miscalculated." the voice drips with sarcasm._ _

__The bell rings._ _

__She gathers her things and prepares herself to let the mystery person have it, only to find that he's long gone.  
Come to think of it, she hadn't noticed a desk there before._ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, I apologize. My writing motivation has been flat as of late. That, and my school is putting on The Sound of Music, so I've been at rehearsal almost every day for a few weeks. Still, every time I nail the high note in Climb Every Mountain, an angel gets its wings. That's the magic of theatre, folks.
> 
> Speaking of which, here's this.  
> You know the drill. Enjoy!

Veronica waits two days.  
He does not show up for either.

The first of said days is Tuesday. After spending a good ten minutes on the first few questions in her textbook, she resolves to go for a sidelong glance. It occurs to her that she could just simply look behind her, but she figures too many complications would arise; it's kind of strange having someone swing their head around to look at you in the first place, and it could devolve into awkward staring and being yelled at for failing to pay attention in class. She glances in the opposite direction, and finds that simply moving her eyes is not sufficient to see who's behind her.

Pasting on a focused expression, she picks up her pen and pretends to resume working, internally figuring her course of action. She employs the tactic of turning to look at the clock, which would give her both an idea of when Calculus would end and what the jackass behind her looks like. She musters her courage and turns her head,  
only to find that the seat behind her is vacant.  
She finds this anticlimactic. 

By Wednesday, she's lost all shits to give about being discreet. Every five minutes, she's turning around, half expecting the door to open and somebody to stumble in with a hall pass. To the outside observer, she just looks very anxious to leave.  
No matter how many times she looks, however, it's always the same: nobody's there. She begins to question whether or not she had been hearing things on Monday, whether or not the Heathers had literally been driving her insane.

She figures they had been. In fact, it had become an unspoken rule that any homework they found mildly vexing was Veronica's responsibility. Textbook pages are easy enough, - all she has to do is copy down the answers from her own copy, throwing in a wrong one here and there - but things like written responses are a bit more difficult. Thus, on Thursday, she's fallen asleep in class again, her head buried in a stack of binders.

Miraculously, this happens near the end of class and she isn't caught. But when the bell rings, it scares the living shit out of her and she falls out of her chair, her binders scattering on the ground. She curses under her breath, and reaches for her things. They're already on her desk.

"I'm impressed. You've brought a new meaning to the term 'rude awakening.'"

She looks up.  
The voice now has a face.  
_Holy shit, it's beautiful. ___

__"Incidentally, you're pretty when you're asleep." He says this nonchalantly, in the same tone one would say 'I like your shoes.'  
And with that, he's gone._ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that set-up and introductions are over with, the actual events are beginning to unfold! Expect to see Kurt and Ram next chapter, as well.  
> I'm really starting to like this project, actually! It's just nice to have something to work at, you know? Huge thanks for the support thus far. Every comment, kudos, and bookmark you guys leave really makes my day a little brighter!  
> Now, without further ado, enjoy!

"So, who is it?"

"What do you mean 'who is it?'"

Heather Chandler rolls her eyes, then fixes them on the ball. "Don't think I haven't noticed you making heart eyes all day." She takes her shot, soundly knocking out McNamara, who sulks in response.  
"So, I'll repeat myself. Who is it?"

Veronica is half-inclined to whack her with her mallet. "Fine, I'll admit there's a guy. But I mean, it's not like we know each other. Nothing big."

"'Nothing big,'" Duke repeats, mocking Veronica in a squeaky voice. "Please. You're glowing."

"Am not!" Veronica protests, despite her burning cheeks. "It's nothing. Some stupid guy sits behind me in Calculus, and he said I was pretty or something."

"I think I know who you're talking about," McNamara says. "I'm pretty sure he's in my Physics. Dark hair, squinty eyes, weird mob jacket?"

"Possibly." 

"Yeah, he's cute, all right," Heather McNamara confirms, and Veronica feels oddly validated. "A little too angsty for me, though." 

Veronica is relieved to see her mother politely interrupt their game with the offering of snacks. Heather Chandler takes a sniff, grimaces, and mutters something like "I'll pass." but Heather McNamara happily accepts. Duke stuffs her pockets.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you; Martha came by while you girls were out shopping? I think she was expecting for you to come over last night, Veronica. I rescheduled for tomorrow - I hope you don't mind."

Whatever relief Veronica feels dissipates into thin air. Now she's the joke, and what's worse, Martha is the butt of it. According to the laws of popular subculture, she understands, hanging out with genuinely nice people is strictly forbidden. Still, she can't help but miss movie nights with Martha, reciting every line by heart, staying up far past midnight. 

Heather Chandler adopts a sickly-sweet tone. "Oh, I'm afraid that won't work out, Mrs. Sawyer. You see, Ram Sweeney is holding a homecoming party tomorrow night. It's a pretty big deal - everyone's going. It just wouldn't be right for Veronica not to show up." She shoots Veronica a glare, just understated enough for it to go unseen.

"Oh, what a shame." Mrs. Sawyer's eyes light up with a new idea. "Hold on. Would it be all right for you to pick up both Martha and Veronica, Heather? I'm sure Martha would love to come with you all."

"I'm not sure if she's on the guest list," Heather says, her voice dripping saccharine, "But I'm sure I could pull some strings and get her in somewhere. After all, it would be so very if she could come. Right, Veronica?"

Veronica forces a smile just as sugary as Heather's. God only knows what she's planning. "Agreed. So very indeed."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...  
> ...the plot.  
> Yes, it all comes down to this. Seven chapters worth of build-up, but here we are!  
> I apologize for the length of my last few chapters. To make up for it, here's a longer one. This scene is really just an amalgamation of the movie scene and the musical scene, with a few differences to each. I know the plotline seems kind of weird right now, but rest assured that I know where I'm going with this. Mostly.  
> Anyways, without further ado, enjoy!

"Hey, we're still on for tonight, right?"  
Veronica had been too busy filling her tray to notice Martha standing next to her in the lunch line. 

This would usually be the point where she'd craft some clever excuse to get out of it, but she doesn't have the heart right now. Instead, she grins halfheartedly and answers with "Definitely."  
Over her shoulder, she can see Heather Chandler idly tapping her fingers on the table, staring at Veronica expectantly. Veronica puts up her finger, signifying "one second" then looks back to Martha.  
"I might be a little late, though. Can we aim for sometime around eleven?"

"I don't know," Martha says, her smile wavering a bit, "That's a little late. You know my mom doesn't like it when people come over after curfew."

"Well, um.." Veronica grabs a napkin and exits the line. "That's when I'm free. We could hang over the weekend, maybe? Crap, I'm sorry-"

"No, it's fine, really," Martha says, but Veronica gets the feeling that it's not. "I know you've been busy lately. You know, eleven is fine, actually. If I ask my mom, then mayb-"

"Veronica!" It's then when Veronica realizes that someone is incessantly tapping her on the shoulder.

Heather Duke stands behind her, one hand on her hip. "Would you haul ass already?!" 

"For Christ's sake, Heather, I told you one second!" Veronica replies through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure it's been longer than that." Heather Duke glares at her, refusing to acknowledge Martha's presence. "Now, move it."

Veronica smiles sheepishly at Martha. "Duty calls. I'll see you tonight, okay?"  
Martha doesn't reply but returns the smile and makes a quick exit. 

Veronica allows herself to be dragged by the wrist to the table, (Despite her scrawny frame, Duke holds a surprising amount of force.) unceremoniously plops down on a chair, and mutters "I'm here."

Heather Chandler ceases her table drumming, staring icily at Veronica. "Well, look who finally decided to show up. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?" Heather leans forward, slamming down a piece of notebook paper. "I need a relatively steamy but realistically lowkey invitation for the party tonight in Ram Sweeney's handwriting."

Veronica raises an eyebrow. "Might I have some context?"  
"No." Heather smirks a dangerous smirk. "Not yet, anyways."

Veronica momentarily forgets what Ram's handwriting even looks like. A few tables down from her, she can see him dunking a green bean in a styrofoam cup containing milk, while Kurt Kelly sits across from him chanting "Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!" From this image, she can assume that chicken scratch is a safe bet.  
She purposefully misspells at least four words and misuses two commas, signs it with an "XOXOXO," and hands it over.

Heather skims it over, and nods affirmatively. "Perfect. Now, I need you to give this to Martha."

"What? Hell no!" Veronica snatches the note back. "Martha's liked Ram since kindergarten. I mean, this would kill her."

"Really? I see it more as doing her a favor." It's in times like these, Veronica had noticed, that Heather typically brings out a certain condescending voice, a tone that signifies that she's already won the battle. "Come on, there's no way she'd ever be invited to a party like this. But, out of the goodness of my heart, I'm presenting her with the opportunity to hang out with the cool kids for one night. You really ought to be thanking me." 

"Oh, please, I know you." Veronica rolls her eyes. "She'll show up, and you guys will try to pull some shit and make a laughing stock out of her."

Heather Chandler feigns offense. "I would never! Look, it's your call whether or not you want to give it to her. But if you keep blowing her off like this, she'll give up on you eventually anyways." 

Fuck. There really is no way out of this.  
Veronica stands, pushes her chair in, and stomps off. She glances at Martha, sitting alone in the corner and poking at her food. Swallowing her guilt, she resolves to confront her.

"So, uh, change of plans," she says, sitting down next to Martha, and sliding her the paper. "I'm going to this party at Ram's tonight, and um, I think he wants you to come?"

Martha unfolds the letter and reads it. Veronica watches her eyes light up.  
"Oh my gosh! Veronica, do you know what this means?!" Martha sets the letter down and looks up, beaming. "He remembers me! Oh, I knew there was still something there! I knew it in my heart!" She squeals girlishly. "This is the best day of my life!"

Veronica forces herself to return the grin. "Y-Yeah, I'm really happy for you! Listen, um, I've got to go to the bathroom, okay?" 

She abruptly stands and makes for the double-door, pasting her eyes to the ground and repeatedly muttering "shit." She barely notices that she's bumped into the edge of someone's table. 

"Really sold yourself out there, didn't you?"

Veronica doesn't need to look up. She knows who it is. "We just keep running into each other, don't we?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Sexual Tension Train™ continues to make its way down the tracks...
> 
> By the way, every last one of you should watch this video:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1SDToRo6Sc  
> John Mulaney is hysterical in his own right, but when combined with Heathers, the hilarity reaches new heights.  
> Besides which, I may or may not have lowkey taken inspiration from certain segments of this video...
> 
> Enjoy!

"We just keep running into each other, don't we?"  
Veronica takes a moment to mentally prepare herself, and then looks up. Sure enough, he's just as beautiful as he was in Calculus. 

Now, he's peering at her over the pages of a thick paperback novel, and smirking like he knows something she doesn't. "Destiny, maybe?"

She quirks her lip one side. "Not destiny. Just a little bizarre, if you ask me." 

He looks back down at his book, quoting it directly. _"The beautiful is always bizarre." ___

"That's Baudelaire," she comments, awestruck. Only then does she register the title of the book he's reading: _The Flowers of Evil. ___  
Destiny is beginning to seem more and more plausible.  
She pulls up a chair and sits down at his table. "You know, I didn't catch your name." 

His attention is elsewhere. He doesn't even look up. "I didn't throw it." 

Shit, he's good. 

She's suddenly reminded of the fact that she supposedly needs to use it. He doesn't seem to be interested in conversing at the moment, so she decides to resume her path to the bathroom.  
Before it had become the conference room for her and the Heathers, the girl's bathroom had acted as a refuge for Veronica, where she was free to lock herself in a stall and vent into the pages of her diary to her heart's content. She does so now, letting out all the bullshit about the party and all the guilt she'd accumulated from blowing off Martha time and time again. And maybe there's a half-a-paragraph in there about a boy with nice eyes that smells like smoke. 

Distantly, she hears a high-pitched scream erupt from the direction of the cafeteria. Veronica sighs. It's only mid-October and four fights have already broken out during lunchtime. She figures Kurt and Ram had decided they were in need of some validation, and decided to ambush the band geeks' table again just to prove that they could pull a freshman's underwear up to their shoulders. Veronica wonders what it would be like to see them take on someone their own size. 

She soon finds out.  
As it turns out, the scream wasn't from some kid, but from Kurt Kelly himself. Somebody'd knocked him off his feet, and he was yowling in pain on the ground, tightly clutching himself in a certain area. Ram is still upright, but not for long. He attempts to fight back, but his punch is blocked by a particularly thick book, which is then launched at his face and followed with a right hook. He's on the ground now, too.  
The victor? Her mystery man. 

The lunchroom falls silent. Never had they seen anyone take out a football player who wasn't a football player themselves. Come to think of it, has there ever been a match fought by Kurt and Ram that they hadn't won? Not throughout middle school, and definitely not throughout high school. Westerburg High finds itself at a collective loss for words. 

Veronica decides to break the silence. Softly, slowly, she begins applauding. All eyes turn to her. Her clapping gradually increases in pace and volume.  
Another student stands shakily, and joins. Another follows. And another. And another.  
It grows into a standing ovation, complete with cheering and whistling. She hasn't seen such widespread praise since her sophomore year, when exams had been delayed a week since they had accidentally printed 500 copies too few. A sea of teenagers are cheering at the top of their lungs; they could easily be mistaken for the audience of a boxing match. 

"Alright, alright! Pipe it down, all of you!" A voice breaks through the noise. Principal Gowan stands in the middle of the mess, wielding a megaphone. "You boys - my office, right now. Everyone else, sit down and keep your mouths shut for the rest of this period. I hear even a whisper out of any of you, and it's a week's detention, you hear me?" 

He helps Kurt and Ram up and escorts the boys away.  
Veronica returns to her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Mystery Boy winking at her on his way out. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it's nice to be able to use character names instead of having to continually say "he" and hope you guys get who I'm talking about.  
> As it turns out, J.D. is an incredibly fun character to write, simply because I'm allowed to be as snarky as I want. This guy is the definition of the "Me, an intellectual:" meme.  
> And I think as we start to see his sanity deteriorate, he's really only going to get more fun to write.  
> ... Okay, that sounded borderline psychotic. 
> 
> Whatever. Enjoy!

Veronica hitches a ride to Heather Chandler's place after school, where she is the recipient of yet another makeover. Per the norm, pretty hurts; Heather Chandler's method for teasing hair is about as painful as her method for brushing it, and equally as vicious. At a certain point, she ditches the ineffective hairbrush and uses her fingers to section off strands of hair and force them upwards. She pulls out a fair amount of Veronica's hair in the process; it's enough that if one looked to the ground, it would be the same amount of hair as if she'd given her a trim. 

That said, this go around, Veronica's upgraded from magenta lipstick to a far more eye-appealing maroon, a clear sign that she's moving up in society. The teased hair brings out her darker roots, and the dark makeup they use on her contrasts with her pale skin, making her image in the mirror look like a charcoal drawing. It's an oddly sensual appearance, one Veronica wouldn't have typically associated with herself. Still, her first genuine party is apparently a large deal, and she'd rather show up looking like this than looking like shit.

They spend two hours not only teasing Veronica's hair, but teasing Veronica in general. 

"Someone has high standards, don't they?" Heather Chandler snarks, "Do your dating requirements include 'must be, at minimum, a purple belt?'"

"I've yet to make a list," Veronica says flatly.

They're well on their way to the party when Heather McNamara bursts with a sudden revelation. "Wait, weren't we supposed to bring chips or something?"

"Oh shit, we were," Heather Duke nods, cringing a bit.

They reach a stoplight, and Heather Chandler shoots Duke a look that could drill holes into her head. "Don't you say 'we.' That was your goddamn responsibility, Heather."

"I forgot," Duke mumbles weakly, "S-Sorry, Heather."

Heather Chandler rolls her eyes as the light turns green. "There's a 7-11 coming up here. Thanks for making us late, you pillowcase."

Heather Duke crosses her arms and sinks against her seat, avoiding the eye contact of everyone present. They pull up to the 7-11, and she prepares to venture inside.  
But through the window, Veronica can see the interior of the store, and she can't help but notice a familiar figure. 

"Wait," she says, "I'll handle this. What do you guys want?"

"I don't know. Chips or something? Maybe some booze, if they sell it here." 

"Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?" Heather Chandler continues her attack on Duke. "Who's ever heard of a 7-11 selling booze? They only sell that shitty Slurpee stuff." She rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time. "Veronica, I hope you know this is on you; I don't have any money with me. And as long as you're in there, you'd better bring us back Corn Nuts."

"BQ or Plain?"

"BQ!" Heather exclaims, and Veronica can tell her patience is running thin. She decides to make her escape as quickly as possible.

A bell jingles as she walks inside, and she pretends not to see him. Walking around in six inch pumps is a difficult feat, but when she stumbles and falls, she has to admit that it might have been on purpose. After all, he more or less had to catch her.

"I realize that we do continue to bump into each other, but this is taking things a bit too literally." He's smirking again, securing her back with one hand and holding what Heather had deemed "that shitty Slurpee stuff" in the other. Her cheeks stand out like a splash of red paint on a charcoal painting.

She uprights herself and tries to mimic the smirk to the best of her ability. "You know, we've run into each other all these times and I still don't have your name."

"I'll end the suspense." He extends his hand. "Jason Dean. J.D. for short."

She shakes it. "Veronica Sawyer."

"Veronica." He repeats, as if digesting the information. "Got it." He grabs for another cup. "Now, did you say cherry or lime?"

"I didn't," she says, "God, how many of those have you had?"

"Three," he says, as if ingesting three Slurpees in one sitting was a perfectly normal thing for a person to do.

She raises an eyebrow. "Is this something that you do often?"

"Please, where do you think I was on Wednesday and Thursday? If ever I'm not in the mood for suffering through Calculus, then chances are I'm here."

Veronica smiles impishly. "Does your mommy know you cut class to eat all that crap?"

"I..." J.D. stiffens, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't exactly have a mom."

"Oh." One question and she's made it awkward. "Shit, I'm sorry, I-"

"It's fine." He regains his cool façade quickly. "However, I do unfortunately have a dad."

"Unfortunately?"

"The old man seems to have a fondness for tearing things down." There's a certain hardness in his voice that leads Veronica to assume that J.D. isn't exactly proud of this. "You've seen the commercial for Dean Construction, right?"

"Pfft! Oh God, my parents and I had to rewind it; we couldn't stop laughing at the shitty effects an- I mean, uh.." She coughs. "Yeah. Yeah, I've seen it."

"Yep, that's us. Well, him." He sucks down the last of his drink, and leans back against the aisle. "But, because of that, I've been moved around all my life. Los Vegas, Boston... Sherwood, Ohio. I've found that it doesn't matter really where you are, because as long as you're within the American border, there's always going to be a Slurpee machine within a 20 mile radius." He shakes the empty cup. "Speaking of which, you still haven't answered my question: cherry or lime?"

Veronica smiles. A genuine smile. It scares her how long it's been since she's enjoyed someone's company this much.  
"Cherry."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit uneventful, but it's a funny drunk scene and it's an introduction to our party! More really happens in the next chapter plot-wise.  
> This chapter was surprisingly hard to write because I almost never go to parties, let alone once where everyone's drunk out of their goddamn minds. I'm assuming this is what people do at parties? If not, then well, artistic license, I guess. 
> 
> Buuut I digress.  
> Enjoy!

Upon arrival, the four of them split up immediately. Heather Duke, having remained solemn the whole car ride, mutters something about putting the food away and despite this, jolts in the direct opposite of the kitchen. Heather Chandler catches the eye of some burly football player and shortly ditches the group. This leaves Veronica in the mildly enjoyable company of Heather McNamara.

When picturing a setting that contains an abundance of teenagers and alcohol and a lack of parental supervision, Veronica had visualized pure, unbridled chaos. The party isn't all that far from this; a bunch of stoned, intoxicated teenagers either running around and yelling like savage animals, staring at an apparently very enthralling wall, or making out like there's no tomorrow.  
Veronica's only ever drank hard lemonade at her second cousin's bridal shower and once gotten mildly buzzed off vodka at Heather Chandler's. She doesn't think she's even touched a cigarette, much less smoked one. And while Westerburg High couldn't exactly be labelled a "controlled environment," there's usually a teacher or some voice of reason present.  
This is entirely different. They've gone completely and entirely off their rockers.

That said, once the alcohol kicks in, she fits right in.

At first, Veronica had been half-inclined to listen to Heather McNamara's crash course on shot consumption, but she figures at a certain point that she's got the basics and she'll improvise the rest.

"Wooow!" Heather says, enchanted, "You're a natural, Ronnie. Honestly, that's amazing! Especially since you're a raging virgin who only gets invited to birthday parties."

About twenty minutes in, she's beginning to think that this whole "popular" ordeal isn't all that bad. For example, look at all the things she's learning tonight: she now knows how to light a cigarette and only singe her fingers a tiny bit, and she knows how to make a shooter with a dirty name she can't recall, but one she must have laughed at for at least two minutes. 

"V-Veronica?"  
Amongst the yelling and drunken laughter, Veronica can barely hear a meek voice behind her speak up. Martha has appeared beside her, clearly uncomfortable in a setting like this one.

"Oh my God, I can't believe you actually came!" Veronica beams, more or less forcing Martha into the stool beside her and leaning on her shoulder for support. "Wait, so your mom actually let you?"

"Y-Yeah, but uh," Martha glances down at her watch. "I can only stay for about an hour."

"Whaat? That's lame," Veronica says, a bit more loudly than necessary. "Eh, whatever." She slides a shot glass in Martha's direction. "Want one? They're, like, reeeally good."

"Oh, no thank you. I brought my own." Martha holds up a bottle of sparkling cider. Heather McNamara passes her a solo cup, but warns her that there might be some excess vodka in it. Martha decides to pass on the cider. 

A voice rings out amongst the noise.  
"Okay, party people! Might I have everyone's attention?"

Heather Chandler, hair tousled and lipstick slightly smudged, stands on a recliner, cupping her mouth with her hands.  
The chatter doesn't die down.

Heather inhales deeply.  
_**"EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP." _ ****_**_

The chatter comes to an abrupt halt.

"Now," Heather says, "To celebrate our upcoming victory over the Razorbacks in Monday's game-"

The entire football team instinctively breaks out in a war cry. Heather inhales again, and they decide to refrain.

Veronica hadn't even noticed that Heather McNamara had left her side. Now she's emerging from a closet holding a large stuffed pig.

Heather Chandler removes one hand from behind her back, revealing a plastic baseball bat. She heroically thrusts it in the air as if it were a sword.

"Per tradition, we're going to be whacking apart their precious little mascot." Heather brings the bat down hard on the arm of the chair for emphasis. "So, any volunteers?"  
Heather scans the crowd and her eyes single out one individual.  
"Martha Dunnstock, could you do the honors?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY THIS IS A LONG ONE.  
> This is a lot of events to cram into one chapter, but somehow I managed?  
> Anyways, finally, our heroine has reached her boiling point, and wants nothing to do with these psychopaths!  
> ...You know, funny how things work like that. 
> 
> Enjoy!

All eyes turn to Martha, then to Heather in question, then back to Martha. 

"O-Oh, uh, you don't want me," Martha stammers, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention, "I just c-can never hit those things hard enough, you know?"

"Well, just give it all you've got then. Don't hold anything back!" Heather says, smiling sweetly. In fact, all three Heathers are smiling similarly. It should be a red flag, but considering the state she's currently in, Veronica suspects nothing. 

"Come on up, Martha!" Heather McNamara pastes on her cheerleader voice, grabbing a frazzled Martha by the arm and blindfolding her. "Now, we're gonna blindfold you, spin you around three times, and then we'll let you have at it! Take as many shots as you need, okay?"

Martha relaxes a bit, and Veronica watches it sink into her that people are trying to include her for once. She's beaming now, as if she were smiling for a television camera. 

Once Martha's been spun and given the bat, she's squared away to begin whacking.  
Anticipation clouds the room. Slowly, Martha raises the bat, and brings it down sharply.  
In an anticlimax, she doesn't even graze the pig. 

"Little to the left there, Martha!" Heather Duke instructs her. 

That couldn't be right, Veronica thought. Isn't the pig to more to Martha's right? Come to think of it, which way even _is _right? Veronica spends too much time meditating on this to notice that they're guiding Martha in the completely wrong direction.__

"Shit!" 

Martha swings the bat, and hits Ram Sweeney squarely in the face. 

"I think I hit something!" Martha says, giddy with excitement. 

"You're almost there, Martha!" Heather Chandler says, her face gleeful, but there's a malice in her tone that sends a shock of horror down Veronica's spine.  
Only then does it occur to her that the whole thing had been planned, and now is coming to fruition right before her eyes. 

Martha hits Ram again and again, and while he yells out in pain, the others are cheering too loudly for her to register it. It's only a plastic bat, so the injuries are minor, but when it hits him hard on the nose, Veronica knows it'll leave a scratch. 

It's an utterly sickening sight. Veronica had thought for a moment that maybe the popular crowd was just like everybody else, but once again, they'd proved themselves to be monsters. Monsters who fed off of the suffering of those lower than them, simply to lift themselves higher. 

She can't take it anymore.  
"Martha, stop! Stop it!"  
Veronica charges forward and reaches for the bat. It hits her once right in the stomach, but she's able to grab it by the barrel and throw it to the ground. She stomps down on it hard, rendering it unusable. 

_"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" _  
Heather Chandler digs her fingernails into Veronica's wrist, but she jerks it away.__

"W-What's going on?" Martha mutters weakly, "Did I win? 

Veronica unties the blindfold.  
Martha's eyes fill with tears. 

"Oh my goodness!" She quickly rushes to Ram's aid. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, I di-" 

Ram recoils as if he's been burnt. "Get the fuck away from me, you fatass!" He pushes her with force that sends her reeling backwards and onto the floor. Her glasses fall off, are stepped on by a spectator, and the glass shatters into pieces. 

Ram's nose is already starting to bleed. He wipes it with his sleeve, staring at Martha like she's dirt beneath his feet. Heather McNamara turns a Kleenex box upside down, dumping tissues onto Ram's lap. 

Martha is deprived of glasses and blinded by her tears, and the realization of what she's done is beginning to sink in like a lethal poison. 

Heather Chandler's voice is equally as poisonous.  
"Martha, Martha, Martha." she says, as if scolding a child, "When you said you had a bad aim, we didn't think it would be _that _bad." She laughs a laugh that vaguely reminds Veronica of the Wicked Witch of the West.  
"Oh well. Better luck next time, I suppose." __

Martha shakily gets to her feet, takes one last look at the crowd and runs for the door.  
Veronica attempts to follow, but Heather Chandler seizes her by the shoulder, spins her around, and those icy blue eyes stare her down instensely, making Veronica feel several inches shorter than she truly is. 

She's beginning to feel nauseous. Martha hitting her in the stomach brought all that alcohol and the remains of a Slurpee back up, and now it's threatening to spill. 

"What the fuck is your damage, Veronica?" Heather's voice is dangerously low. 

Veronica jerks away once more, this time wildly. "No, Heather; What the fuck is _your _damage? Actually..."  
She raises her voice as high as she can muster and addresses the crowd. "What the fuck is wrong with all of you? What, do you think you're being funny?! Ram has a fucking nosebleed, Martha's glasses are destroyed, as is any shred of self esteem she had left! This isn't funny - it's fucking cruel." __

"Funny? That- That shit was hilarious!" Kurt pipes up. Kurt's being laughing so hard throughout the whole thing that Veronica had suspected he was going to piss himself. He doesn't seem to want to stop now.  
"God, she looked like a goddamn gorilla swinging that thing around!" 

Ram punches his shoulder. 

"You are the ones acting like animals here!" She's more or less screaming now. Heather Chandler is staring daggers at her, but she doesn't care. "Has it ever occurred to you people that when you do shit like this, you're doing shit like this to a human being? An actual fucking human being, who's probably losing sleep wishing they could just be like you? Wishing that the first thing they felt waking up in the morning wasn't the dread of knowing they'd have to face you people- you _animals _-"__

_"Shut the fuck up, Veronica! Or I'll make you!"_

Silence has fallen over the crowd. Veronica sighs. "You know what? I'm done with you. All of you. If this is what cool feels like, then maybe I'd rather be a loser."  
She makes for the door. 

Heather stops her again, grabbing her around the neck with one hand and slapping the other over her mouth. She's _livid. _  
_"Oh no, you don't get to go back to being invisible. Come Monday, everyone's going to see you for what you really are- a dirty little traitor. Not even the losers will touch you now! Transfer to Washington! Transfer to Jefferson! But don't think for one fucking minute that anybody at Westerburg's gonna let you play their reindeer games!"_ __

Veronica shuts her eyes. Oh God, she can't hold it anymore.  
She vomits all over Heather's hand.  
Heather screams bloody murder. 

_"I RAISED YOU UP FROM NOTHING! AND WHAT'S MY THANKS? I GET PAID IN PUKE!"_

Veronica wipes her chin, smirking. "Lick it up, baby. Lick it up." She turns on her heel and makes for the exit once more.  
Heather doesn't stop her this time, but she can hear the refrain of her voice from behind.

"You're dead meat, Sawyer. Dead meat."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kas6akz1jWU  
> (I'm not sorry.)
> 
> HOO BOY FINALLY GOT THIS OVERWITH  
> Man, this isn't even a full on lemon and I still got uncomfortable writing it.

Veronica walks for only ten minutes before she realizes that she's somehow become horribly lost in her own goddamn hometown. How she's done this she has no idea; maybe it's the fact that it's an unusually windy night, or that her stinging eyes feel like they're perpetually crossed. All the roads seem to mesh together into an unnavigable mass of cement vaguely resembling the second circle of hell. Or was it the third..?  
Fuck, Heather was right. She really is dead meat.

How had she ever thought befriending a trio of professional bitches to be a good idea? Being a nobody hadn't been all that bad, really. Sure, she hadn't been liked by anyone, but she really hadn't been disliked, either. Being so middle-of-the-road meant that nobody would ever see you in a bad light, but never in a good one either, because you simply wouldn't be seen. Ten minutes ago, every last partygoer had glared and turned their nose up at Veronica, and she figured they'd look at her with the same expression for the remainder of the year. She'd give anything to just be invisible to them once more.

She's brought back to reality by a gust of intense wind blowing right in her face, a low grumbling sound resonating in the air.  
Thunder.  
_"Fuck!"_  
She violently slams her foot down onto the pavement, the impact causing the six inches of heel on her pumps to snap right off. Lighting flashes. Veronica curses again, removing her shoes and carrying them while she resumes her path.  
The thunder grows steadily louder, culminating in one ear-splitting boom, followed by an immediate downpour of all the rain the world can muster. Her clothes are dripping, sticking like glue to her body. A combination of rain and dripping mascara fogs her vision.

Getting back home is a pipe dream; her first order of business is to take shelter anywhere. Hell, she'll sleep under the awning of someone's porch if she has to. There's a house to her immediate left with a shoddily-constructed overhang, and she decides it's better than nothing. If anything, she can wait out the storm and create mental bucket list for all the shit she must do before her Monday death sentence. 

Veronica allows herself onto the side of the porch, notices that her bare feet have left muddy prints on its surface, and says a silent prayer that the owner won't notice. The lights are off both inside and out, and while the curtains are drawn on a window beside her, it's too dark to see inside.  
She doesn't think she's ever been in this neighborhood before. It's a line of one-story houses, each at a various stage in a cycle of falling apart. Relative to the ones around it, this one is fairly nice, though it's a few blows from caving. She wonders if it'll survive the storm. 

Lightning strikes dangerously close to her, and she jumps slightly. The resulting light lets her see into the window for just a split second. It's long enough for her to make out a bedroom in a state of disorganized chaos. Only bits of the wooden floor are visible. It's obscured mostly by a sea of crumpled papers and unfolded laundry, including various socks, two pairs of jeans, and a coat.  
A coat.

It will only occur to her later that this is a horrible, horrible idea, with a high risk factor and a possible charge for breaking and entering. But right now, she's far too drunk and far too desperate to care.  
She drops her shoes, snaps off the lock, opens the window and climbs through. 

Sure enough, it's J.D. He's out cold, enough so that he doesn't even hear Veronica come in from the window immediately opposite his bed and land softly on the edge of it.

It's at this point that Veronica realizes that she's snuck into the room of a half-naked boy, and there's only so many ways this could go. The best way to handle the situation would be to leave it immediately, but God help her, she wants it to play out.  
There's only one way to find out how it will.

Shakily, she reaches out and touches him lightly. She watches a hint of a smile play about his face, and he unconciously mutters her name. Veronica's heartbeat quickens.  
With renewed confidence, she scoots forward a bit and touches his face.  
It's too bold of a move, and J.D. wakes in a sweat.

She can really only imagine how he feels right now. It's not every day that a girl soaked in rainwater with bloodshot eyes and dripping lipstick appears in your room.

"V-Veronica? Christ, it's two A.M.; what the hel-"

She slaps her hand over his mouth and presses her index finger to her lip. Outside, she can hear the thunder roaring, the sporadic bursts of lightning their only light. Her eyes are starting to adjust though, and she can see just enough. She can see him hesitate for a second, but nod slowly.

Veronica removes her hand from his mouth, but doesn't let go of J.D.'s face. Instead, she cups it and kisses him hard.  
There's a rush of sweet relief that follows, like she's finally broken down the wall she's been hacking away at for ages. Of course, "ages" meant five days, three of which she hadn't even known what he'd looked like, but she'd known. They'd both known.  


Right when it breaks, she moves in for more, looping her arms around his neck. He gingerly puts his hands on her waist. This time, he kisses her back.  
It's as nice as she'd hoped, too. She can taste a mix of sugar and smoke on her lips that reminds her of a burnt marshmallow.  
It's not long until he's kissing her with equal force.

He breaks apart. "Veronica, wait. What-" He abruptly removes his hands. "What is this?"

She smiles. "Long story short, I fucked up pretty big and now Heather has vowed to have me dead come Monday. I've got a hell of a to-do list, and you're at the top."

J.D. raises an eyebrow. "Scale of 1-10, how drunk are you exactly?"

"Hella."

Veronica's already unzipping her dress, mildly amused by how hard he's trying not to get flustered. She can tell he's used to being the suave boy he had been at the 7-11, one who always knew how to get the best of someone. But here she is, and hell if she hasn't got the best of him. It's an entirely unforseen turn of events. 

"Hey." She pulls him closer. "I know you like to act you don't feel anything for anyone, or anything for yourself. But you do feel, I know it. And with all the shit that life's handed you, why wouldn't you?"

"Ver-"

"Listen. The world's fucked up, we both know it. It's done shit to you, it's done shit to me. But for fuck's sake, can't we just leave it behind, just for one night?" She closes her eyes, leans her forehead against his. "It's nice in here with you, you know. It's beautiful."

He laughs. "You're beautiful."

She doesn't get a chance to respond. He grabs her by the waist and slams his mouth against hers. She gladly reciprocates.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, these two. 
> 
> Allow me to explain.  
> There was a period of time in which I believed that I shipped JDronica. But then I realized what it really was: I adore character analysis. That said, the things that makes J.D. and Veronica great characters are revealed through their relationship. So yes, this starts out all warm and fuzzy, but be warned it's going to naturally progress into a trainwreck. 
> 
> Anyways, with that out of the way, enjoy!

When she wakes, two realizations hit Veronica.  
The former is that she has a bitch of a headache.  
The latter is that she's in deep shit.

She mentally pinky promises herself that she will never become so intoxicated again. She guesses that her body isn't used to containg alcohol, let alone a large amount, and now it's going through a trauma. God, her head is throbbing. She can barely produce a single thought.  
Speaking of which, what the hell had she been thinking last night? Sure, maybe it had seemed like a good idea to mouth off at the ringleader of the bitch brigade at twelve A.M. while she was drunk off her ass. But now it's morning, and the reality of the situation hits Veronica like a pile of bricks. Many a bad decision had been made, and now she's going to have to face the consequences.  


She only remembers J.D.'s presence when he mumbles something against her ear that could pass for her name. Veronica feels a glow in her chest.  
Okay, maybe not _every_ decision had been bad.

Still, she doesn't have time to revel in her newfound romance. If she's to avoid the wrath of Heather Chandler, she must get moving asap.

As quietly as she can manage, she grabs for her clothes. She feels around for her dress, only to realize that he's clutching it tightly, burying his face in it. This strikes her as oddly cute.  
She lets him sleep for a few minutes, and then tries to gently remove it from his hands. It's no use; he wakes. In apology, she offers a half-assed kiss on the cheek and a muttered "Morning."

"Early morning," he mutters groggily.  
He's not wrong, at least she thinks. There's an alarm clock on a side table, but it's unplugged. The only indicator of time is the fading remnants of yellow and orange in the blue sky beyond the window. She's guesses it hasn't been long since sunrise.

"S-Sorry," she says, blushing. The whole situation is more than a bit awkward.

"You're fine, I don't mind," J.D. reassures her, meanwhile she finally untangles a particularly disagreeable strap and fastens her bra back on. "Hey, take your time there. " He leans in. She kisses him swiftly, but pulls away just as quick.

"Shit, I gotta get to Heather's."

"Which one again?" 

"Chandler."

"Elaborate." 

"The red one- Oh, do you mind?" The zipper on her dress is caught, and she can barely reach all the way around to deal with it.

"Last I checked, she was plotting your demise?" J.D. says, fiddling with it for a few seconds, then eventually managing to get it unstuck. She smiles in gratitude.

"Yeah, and if I don't want her to carry it out, then I'm gonna have to admit surrender," Veronica says, crossing her arms.  
It occurs to her that her heels are still outside, broken and probably sopping wet. She resolves to go barefoot, and briefly runs her fingers through her hair. She's a little embarassed to show up at Heather's looking like a hot mess, but she assumes that the hickeys will speak for themselves and mentally prepares herself to be ridiculed.

"I don't get it," he says, frowning, "What exactly can that bitch give to you? Why do you need her?"

"Listen, I fucked up really bad at that party last night, and now everyone hates me. I'm not like you - I can't survive on my own. If nobody likes me, then I'm done for. I... I need to have people."

"Don't you have me?" He asks with uncharacteristic earnestness, "Veronica, this isn't just a hookup, ri-"

"No, no." She shakes her head, leaning it on his shoulder. "Of course not. But I've spent years with these people, J.D. Over those years, some things just became generally accepted knowlege. One of those things is that you don't mess with Heather Chandler. She'll make your life a living hell." She kisses his cheek, then breaks away. "I gotta go, okay? I'll see you soon, promise."

"Wait." He grabs her arm. "Let me come with."

"Really?" Veronica perks up. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. For, uh..." He looks to the side. "For backup."

She smiles, more or less launching herself at him. "Thank you."

They linger there for a bit, and Veronica decides to bite the bullet. "Hey, uh, are..." Her cheeks are blazing. "Are we in love?"

He chuckles. "Doubtlessly."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. J.D. being a little shit right from the start and me employing the use of unnecessarily dramatic writing.  
> Here, ladies and gentlemen, does our first arc end. And hoo boy, was it fun to write.
> 
> Seriously, I've never remained this constant with a story. Usually I give in about five chapters in, and I've made it to nearly thrice that amount. I just love this story, guys. It's so clever, and so inherently simple yet complicated. Heathers, regardless of what form it's in, is a work of genius.  
> And I've never written a story that's garnered this much attention. It really makes me happy when people take the time to comment on what they like or what gave them feels, or bookmark/subscribe because they want to see more.  
> So you know what? I'm following through on this one. I'm vowing that I will make it to the end of this.
> 
> Now, without further ado: enjoy, you guys!

Veronica had intended to knock on the front door like a dignified human being, but J.D. points out that it's a tad weird to be knocking on someone's door at the ass-crack of dawn, and it probably wouldn't garner a response anyways. While searching for an alternative route, they had discovered that the backdoor is unlocked. 

"Doesn't this qualify as breaking and entering?"

"You're one to talk about that."

While he isn't wrong, she can't shake the feeling that in this scenario, it's not a very moral thing to do.  
That said, neither is leaving vomit stains on somebody's freshly-done manicure, so she decides to head inside.

Despite unanimously being the most popular of the four, where Heather deviates from the standard it-girl package is that her house isn't a luxurious mansion, but a relatively average townhouse. It's close in proximity to Veronica's place, and it's about the same in size. The one oddity of Heather's house becomes very apparent when one walks in: the Chandlers are passionately fond of red, and their house reflects this. Nearly every room is painted some shade of red, the kitchen being a light mahogany with matching countertops and accent towels.

"Have you ever wondered if Heather Chandler is the living incarnation of the Queen of Hearts?" J.D. remarks drolly. "What's her stance on beheading?"

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Keep the sarcasm to a minimum, okay? I'm already skating on thin ice, and if she gets any more pissed at me, then I'm history."

A few rooms over, an indignant voice rings out.

_"MO-OM! SOME PEOPLE IN THIS HOUSEHOLD ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!"_

Veronica had learnt over the course of several sleepovers that Heather isn't exactly a morning person. In retrospect, midday probably would have been a better time to confront her.  
"Heather, it's just m-"

_"WHAAT?!"_

_"IT'S VERONICA!"_

Beat.

_"WELL, **FUCK** ME GENTLY WITH A CHAINSAW! LOOK WHO CAME CRAWLING BACK!"_

J.D. lifts an eyebrow. "With a wh-"

"Just don't ask." Veronica clears her throat. "I'm here to apologize; can I come in?"

_"YOU INTERRUPTED MY BEAUTY SLEEP. FUCK YOUR APOLOGY."_

"I-" Veronica sighs. It really is no use. 

J.D. instinctively grabs her hand. She appreciates the gesture, but it doesn't really alter the situation.

Heather yells back, with a newfound calmness. "Actually, it's your lucky day, Sawyer - I'm feeling nice. Fix me a prairie oyster and I'll consider allowing you in my presence again." 

"Prairie oyster," Veronica repeats to herself, "Shit, what's that again?" She leans her elbows on the counter and rubs her temples. "Okay, um... Raw egg, Tobasco, I'm pretty sure there's sal-"

"Pepper and a teaspoon of Worcester sauce," J.D. finishes, as if reciting it.

Veronica's lips perk at the edges. "Somebody knows their hangover cures."

"Trust me, I've had experience."  
Based on his tone, she can tell he isn't speaking in reference to himself. Veronica decides not to pursue the topic.

The ingredients are items one would usually find in a refrigerator, but for whatever reason, he's looking in the cabinet under the sink.

"You're not gonna find anything in there except cleaning stuff," she says, giggling, "That and Mrs. Chandler's alcohol stash, but you didn't hear it from me."

"Listen, I enjoy alcohol as much as the next guy..." He's smirking again.  
She's scared for a second that he's going to try to spike Heather's drink, but to her surprise, he instead pulls out a tub of drain cleaner and holds it up, regarding it contemplatively. "But personally, hydroxide is a little too strong for my tastes." 

"Very funny," she says. Unable to find a teaspoon, she's trying to approximate a teaspoon of Worcester sauce into a regular spoon. "Hey, as long as you're over there, can you get the rest of the stuff out of the fridge?"

"Do we need anything else? In my opinion, we've got it all right here."

She's preparing to pour the contents of the spoon into a glass when he slides it in his direction and fills it up.  


"Off with her head, I say." There's a boastful quality to J.D's voice and an odd look in his eyes that implies that he isn't joking.  


"Come on, don't be a dick." Veronica grabs another glass and takes it upon herself to get the rest of the ingredients and make the drink, a little annoyed that he's continuing to shut her down. 

"Don't be a chicken," J.D. says in the same tone of voice. He's not smirking anymore; he's genuinely smiling, enthralled. And he doesn't strike her as the type who genuinely smiles very often.  
Veronica's stomach churns slightly.

"She'd never drink anything that looks like that, anyway." Veronica cracks an egg over the side, and prepares to exit the kitchen and the discussion.

"Good point." He thinks it over briefly, then reaches into the cabinet and decides to transfer it into a mug. "There we go. Now she won't know what she's drinking."

"J.D., you're not funny." She asserts, crossing her arms and reclining against the counter.

J.D. shrugs. If he's at all fazed, he doesn't display it.  
"You're adorable when you're mad."

Her worst-best-friend's kitchen isn't exactly the ideal setting for a make-out session, but he initiates one anyway, and she assents. A part of Veronica knows he isn't taking her seriously. A smaller part of her doesn't care.

The infuriated voice of Heather Chandler interrupts them.

_**"PRAIRIE OYSTER! CHOP CHOP!"**_

Veronica allows herself a second to blush, sheepishly tucking a dark curl behind her ear. She then grabs the cup and is halfway out of the room when she registers that J.D. isn't following her.

She halts in the doorway, turning her head over shoulder. "Are you coming?"  


She swears that for a split second that there's mild panic in his eyes, a hint of discomposure in his form. It's gone in a moment, and he's back entirely to normal. He nods and follows behind her wordlessly.

They enter the hallway and the third door to the left is propped marginally open and greets them with a sign reading: _"Princesses only. Peasants will be prosecuted."_  
"X marks the spot," J.D. mutters behind her. 

Veronica gingerly opens the door, and allows herself into the pale pink hell that is Heather's room. Heather herself is clad in a red kimono with cherry blossoms embroidered along the hems and sprawled out on her bed, regarding them with distaste.

"Veronica," Heather says hardly, "What a pleasure. Especially at six-fucking-A.M." She snickers, rolling her blue eyes into the ceiling. "Nice hickeys, by the way." She then turns her attention to J.D. "Oh look, a matching pair."  
Fuck, she noticed. 

J.D. stares daggers at her. Veronica takes his hand, half in reassurance and half to restrain him.

"Well then," Heather says, daintily kicking her legs, "Let's get to it, why don't we?"

"I, uh..." Veronica stammers, "I think that last night we both said a lot of things that we regret, and-" 

Heather laughs out loud. "What a load of bullshit! See, I seem to recall you vomiting all over me and neglecting to apologize?"

Veronica feels J.D.'s hand curve into a fist. She grips it tighter. "T-That's why I'm here. I'm- um, really sorry abo-"

"Really, Veronica? _Are you?_ " Heather protests, "Get crucial. You don't care at all; I know it. I'll tell you exactly why you're here: You woke up this morning with the realization that you didn't have a damn person in your life who can give you the validation you so desperately need, except maybe some creep you slept with. And so you decided to waltz up in here to try to get me back." The hint of humor in Heather's voice is gone. Now it's only sheer coldness. "No way, Veronica. I'm not buying it. Now, give me my drink and get the fuck out of my sight." 

Veronica's lower lip trembles; she bites down on it so hard she can faintly taste blood. She shakily extends the cup towards Heather, who snatches it sharply from her hands and takes a measured sip.  
Heather grimaces slightly, and Veronica wonders if she messed up the order of the ingredients. Heather takes another sip and her eyes bulge.

It occurs to Veronica that something is wrong. Very, very wrong.  
Heather parts her lips, tries to force something out. All that emerges from her mouth is a breathless squeak residing deep within her throat. She stands and immediately stumbles over her own two feet, and grabs onto Veronica's shoulders for balance, still desperately trying to say something, anything. Tears well in the corners of her semiclosed eyes, and she recoils from Veronica as if scalded, falling sharply to her knees and knocking her head hard on the coffee table, cracking a hole in the glass surface. Heather battles with her eyelids, fights keep them open through a storm of tears. Rocking back and forth, she claws at her throat. It looks as if she should be screaming, but no sound is coming out.  
But Veronica can see that the interior of Heather's mouth is stained an electric blue, a vile substance beginning to spread at the corners of her mouth.  
Heather summons whatever remains of her strength, and speaks two final words in a shrilly voice.

_"Corn nuts." ___

With that, her knees give and she falls to the ground, motionless.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Alas, poor Heather. I knew her, a fellow of infinite jest, and of most excellent scrunchie.
> 
> Anyways, why was this note very fun to write? Maybe because it's because I'm writing as someone who's writing as someone. Or maybe I'm just crazy. Either way, I'm concerned.  
> Still, have I mentioned that the JDronica dynamic on Veronica's part is honestly very fun to write? Like, you can see Veronica questioning him but electing to go along with him anyways, and I really want to have that progression of her from "Maybe I should just go with it?" to "Okay, this isn't okay anymore," you know? So, uh, stay tuned for that, I guess.
> 
> Whatever.  
> Enjoy!

Silence ensues.  
A long silence.  
A very long and very profound silence.

And Veronica decides to shatter it.

_"Oh my God."_

She dares to turn her head, and sees that J.D.'s expression isn't too different from hers: eyes wide, jaw agape, legs frozen.  
God, this is actually happening.  
Oh God, this is her life.

"Oh my God," she repeats. The meaning sinks in the third time. _"OH MY GOD."_

The mug is a shattered mess of ceramic on the red carpet. Veronica kneels and picks up its remains. She yelps, feeling her hands prickle, and lets the pieces fall to the ground.  
Acid.  
Oh God, what has she done?

She falls to her knees, putting her hands on Heather's chest and breathing her name.  
No heartbeat. No nothing.  
She pushes desperately, now yelling out Heather's name in hopes of a response from anyone, from anything. Any minute now, the other two will tumble out of a closet laughing, successfully having executed a revenge prank on Veronica.

She scans the room. Nobody. Nobody but her, J.D., and what was once Heather Chandler.

"Oh- oh God, they-" Veronica can barely speak. "They're- gonna think- think that we did this. We're gonna be charged with murder. _I'll never be the first woman president."_ She looks up at him. "Christ, don't just stand there! Call the police or something! Can you do CPR...?"

"CPR typically doesn't work on dead bodies, Veronica," J.D. says grimly, " Fuck, what _do_ we do?"

_**"I DON'T KNOW. THAT IS WHY I'M ASKING YOU."** _

"I'm thinking, okay?!" He shuts his eyes and runs his hands through his hair, trying to conjure an idea. "Okay, the real problem here is this: It needs to look like _we_ weren't the ones who did it, right? So, the logical solution is that we somehow make it seem like _she_ did it."

"You mean..." Veronica scrunches her brow. "You mean like suicide?" It's a nasty word, one that feels like poison on her lips when it's spoken. She might vomit again.

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly." J.D. opens his eyes. "Simple enough; we just need a note. I mean, you forge stuff all the time, don't you?"

"Well yeah, but this..." She grimaces. "This just feels wrong."

J.D.’s already at Heather's desk, assembling materials. "If you have any better ideas, then I'd love to hear them."

Veronica doesn't. Repulsive as it may be, this seems to be their only option.  
He hands her a red ballpoint pen and a composition notebook. She tears a page out, clicks the pen, and is faced immediately with the most intense writer’s block in all of her seventeen years of life.

He regards her expectantly. “Well?”

She stares blankly at the paper. “I have no clue what to write." 

"None?"

"None." Veronica sighs. "Actually, if I were to order the kids at Westerburg from “most likely to kill themselves” to “least likely to kill themselves”, I think Heather would be pretty close to the bottom of the list. I mean, nobody would believe this.”

”That’s exactly the point!” J.D. declares, throwing up his hands. “Say some inane football player or a straight-A poindexter decided they wanted to chug a bottle of Drano. That’s unexpected. That’s the kind of thing people would be suspicious about." He squints at her. "Now Heather Chandler, the absolute ruler of Westerburg High? That’s _very_ unexpected. Unexpected enough that it's believable. Sometimes, something’s so implausible that it’s almost plausible, so crazy that it can’t be false. Think of it like…” He scratches his head. “Like a curveball.”

”So really, “ Veronica deduces, “I could make this note as batshit as possible and people would believe it?”

"The extreme always seems to make an impression." He shrugs absently. “Long as you know her tone of voice, you can make her say whatever you want.”

She nods and puts pen to paper. “I think I’ve got it.”

\---

_Dear World,_

_This may come as a shock to you. Who’d have thought, a beautiful, popular girl such as myself giving up her picture-perfect life while it’s barely even begun? What most of you don’t know is that my life is not perfect. Far from it, actually._  
_There’s certain aspects of my life that nobody sees. Nobody sees my father, blowing his cash on overpriced golf trips, dashing sports cars, and three new TVs for his basement; and barely paying attention to my existence. Nobody sees my mother, equally as apathetic towards me and constantly drowning her sorrows in vodka._  
_And most importantly, nobody sees me, the real me. Nobody sees a girl who spends sleepless nights sobbing into her pillow. Nobody sees a girl who buys herself all the most expensive clothes, who cakes on the most expensive makeup and pastes on a smile, only so people can’t see what’s underneath._  
_No, the only thing anyone sees and will ever see is an arrogant, self-centered bitch who won’t hesitate to tear down anyone who stands in her way. Maybe that’s why everyone hates me._  
_Maybe it’s my fault for hiding my true self. Maybe it’s my fault for acting like my life is flawless._  
_But in my mind, this is the only way I can reveal myself. The only way that the world will be able see that I, Heather Chandler, am not a horrible person._

 _And so I die not only letting go of all my emotional baggage and inner torment, but letting go of the perfect girl who I never was._  
_Goodbye._

 _XOXOXO,_  
_Heather Chandler_


	16. Chapter 16

She's both pleasantly surprised and especially concerned by how good she is at this. That said, Veronica has always written; be it scathing diary entries, analytical essays for AP English, or satirical short stories when she has the time; so this isn't exactly her first rodeo.  
Besides, there's an sort of fun that comes from writing as someone other than herself, from creating a character out of someone who's real.  
God, what the living hell is wrong with her?

What she's most concerned about is why she doesn't seem to feel anything that isn't just that: concern. In particular, she doesn't feel, well, guilty. And considering the fact that she just watched someone die at her hands, she figures that she really ought to feel at least slightly remorseful.  
Maybe the seriousness of the situation hasn't entirely hit her yet. Maybe she's too fixated on the rush of relief that comes from having cleanly covered her tracks, or on her joy to have finally left the situation when J.D. grabs her hand and instructs her to run.  
She gives him her address and a brief description of where her house is located, and remains wordless for the entirety of the ride home.

It's only seven when she returns home, so luckily, her parents aren't awake to hear her enter. She throws on a nightshirt and a coating of concealer. When her mother opens the door to inform her that breakfast is ready, she finds Veronica sprawled out on her bed like she's been there all night.  
Veronica pleads for five more minutes, which she spends staring blankly at herself in the mirror, and then trudges downstairs.

She's never told so many lies in one sitting.

"Oh, the party was great."  
"Only around two hours. I spent most of the night at Heather's, but she was kind of sad for some reason."  
"I got home around twelve. Didn't you hear me?"  
And her personal favorite:  
"No, Martha didn't show. I mean, she might've, but I didn't see her."

Martha. Oh shit, she entirely forgot.  
Veronica shoves the rest of her scrambled eggs down her throat, washes it down with orange juice, and abruptly excuses herself.

The first time she dials Martha's number, she doesn't receive an answer.  
She has a similar experience the second time.  
The third time's the charm.

"Hey," says a meek-sounding Martha on the other line.

"H-" Veronica feels her throat crack. She clears it and tries again. "Hey. I just was wondering how you were doing. Last night..." She flops down onto her matress, pasting her eyes to the ceiling. "Last night was pretty rough."

"Y-Yeah. Yeah, it was," Martha squeaks. "But I'm doing fine." Her tone says otherwise. This is not a good sign.

"That's good," Veronica says, tentatively looping her finger around the telephone wire. "Well, I'm finally free today, so uh, wanna hang out?"

"Oh, I- Well-" Martha coughs a distinctly fake cough. "I can't. I'm not feeling very well today. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Veronica blurts instinctively. "for being a horrible friend. Fuck, Martha. I'm so sorry." There's silence from the other end. Veronica opens her mouth to say something, but her voice breaks on the first syllable. She takes several more seconds to muster her voice and even then, it's barely a whimper. "I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Yeah," Martha replies with equal shakiness, "See you then." The only noise from the other end is a the drone of a dial tone. Veronica aims for the phone stand on her side table, misses, and watches it hit the wooden floor with a thud. She doesn't bother to pick it up. 

A pang of betrayal hits her. Martha isn't the type who lies, much less to her own best friend.  
Then again, hadn't Veronica used the same excuse on her?  
Is she any better? _Is that even a question?_

Veronica curls over onto one side and holds her stomach.  
The guilt is beginning to set in.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I apologize for the length of the last few chapters. (or lack thereof) In apology, here's a long one!  
> Uggghh, these nerds. I tried to insert some cuteness in there for those of you that are here for JDronica, but there's also a fuckton of subtext if you're reading between the lines. 
> 
> But dude, imagine J.D. doing CinemaSins. I would watch the shit out of that.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

If your parents call you downstairs to solemnly inform you that your friend has abruptly decided to take her life, then there's likely to be a certain sense of awkwardness about the situation. When the truth is that you wound up being her accidental murderess, this awkwardness infinitely amplifies itself. Such is the situation Veronica finds herself in after spending most of the day alternating between writing, crying, napping, and staring into space.  
As her mother explains the details in a soothing voice, Veronica forces herself to think of a sad commercial about homeless puppies. This allows her to cry, displaying a believably human response to loss. She figures that she pulls it off, because a family group hug is initiated shortly thereafter. While the embrace is comforting, it threatens to wipe off the concealer on her neck, so she tearfully excuses herself in need of "time alone."

Monday morning, she's forced to get up early and return to the long haul. Like many other kids, she makes the mistake of showing up at school after an impromptu cancellation for both Monday and Tuesday. (The school probably had intended to announce this and gotten sidetracked rearranging the football schedule.) Her teachers assign her homework nonetheless, so she trudges to her locker to collect her things. Upon opening it, she notices that taped to the interior is a crumpled movie ticket stapled to a Post-It note reading "2:00?"  
It's a very informal proposal for a first date, but at least he's trying.

She's been tired for almost two days now, she notices. Minimal sleep was had both last night and the night before, and the only thing keeping her upright right now is the various naps she took yesterday. The persistent emptiness she's been feeling, however, can only keep her conscious for so long; the moment she gets home, she sets a five hour alarm for herself and nods off.  
When the alarm sounds, a semi-conscious Veronica unwittingly silences it and resumes sleeping. When she wakes up, it's 2:15.  
Shit.

She takes a moment to ponder whether she should even show. There's a part of her that would just like to forget he ever existed, that the past two days had ever happened. With the current state her life is in, the last thing she needs is a boyfriend.  
Still, she's in desperate need of a little emotional support right now, support that no parent and no Heather could ever give. She had hoped to find it in Martha, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards. That leaves her with J.D. as the only option.  
She needs to start over, to cleanse her life of all the bullshit that had come from being atop the social hierarchy. In order to do that, she must silently abdicate the throne and remove herself from the whole situation. What better way to that than to involve herself with someone else? Maybe going and getting attached to him isn't a bad idea after all.

She hastily throws on a dress overtop a pair of tights, secures it with a cardigan, and hides her bedhead with a hat. She supposes it'd be a cute look for Autumn if it wasn't being modeled on such a mess. There's no time to reflect on this, so she rushes out the door and heads for a dollar cinema about six blocks from her house.

Veronica arrives at the venue and inspects her surroundings while an elderly woman punches her ticket at a tortoise-like rate. There's only three other cars in the parking lot, and the lobby is deserted aside from her. She had expected as much, since most people are probably out working and their children have been instructed to stay at home. When the lady announces "Theater 4" and Veronica does as told, she finds that despite a movie being played, all the seats are empty.  
She curses under her breath. He probably had been waiting for her and thought that she'd stood him up. She sighs and begins to exit.

"Over here."

A silhouette at the bottom of the screen is waving at her. Only then does she notice a figure sitting on the edge of the stage. She moves forwards and sure enough, J.D. is patting the space next to him.  
Of course, she thinks. If you're the only person in the theater, then nobody's there to tell you not to sit that close to the screen.

"Sorry I'm late," Veronica says, sitting down cross-legged beside him and offering a smile. "I was a little busy."

J.D. examines her and raises an eyebrow. "Busy oversleeping?"

She rolls her eyes. "Maybe. Anyways, what's this?"

He shrugs. "A low budget horror movie."

Veronica shudders. "I'm not a big horror movie person."

"Relax, ones like this are never scary," he says with a chuckle, "In fact, they're actually very laughable and hilariously fun to commentate. From what I can surmise, our main character is a discount Michelle Pfeiffer whose parents went out for dinner and she invited people over, which is a pretty stupid decision to make considering that there's somehow a serial killer on the loose in this nondescript suburban town."

He exhales smoke, and Veronica notices there's an emptied Slurpee cup and a pack of Camels on one side of him. She's pretty sure that these items are not allowed in the theater, but she decides not to say anything.

"Sounds fascinating," she snarks.

"Anyways," he continues, "Two people have been killed off thus far, and that leaves us with Not Michelle Pfeiffer, her best friend, and a stereotypical nerdy guy." He taps the ashes and lets the cigarette hit the stage. This also strikes her as not allowed. "Who do you think's going to be the last one standing?"

She laughs incredulously. "That's kind of a morbid question, don't you think?"

"I mean, it's kind of like betting on a boxing match," he explains. "I, personally, am rooting for the brainiac."

"Hmmm..." Veronica inspects the cast of characters. At the moment, they're packed into a closet in the basement while footsteps sound from outside the door. "I don't know. I think Michelle has a chance. I mean, they wouldn't kill off the protagonist."

"You'd actually be surprised how many movies of this caliber do," J.D. says, "Besides, Veronica, you of all people should know that the dumb blonde doesn't make it to the end."

Veronica feels shoulders tense and her insides tighten. "That's not cool," she mutters, biting her lip.

J.D. looks as if he wants to say something, but he settles for a dismissive noise and turns his attention back to the movie.  
Onscreen, the lights in the closet suddenly shut off and a melodramatic scream rings out for several seconds longer than necessary. When the lights flicker back on, the best friend has disappeared.

"What? That makes no sense!" Veronica crosses her arms. "If the murderer got in, then the other two totally would have noticed."

J.D. puts on a mocking professional tone. "And because budget cuts will not allow us to show the actual murder, our killer is conveniently able to teleport. We totally could have made this a plot point but, you know, time constraints."

Veronica laughs, and immediately remembers that hers is the dorkiest laugh known to mankind.

"Oh God, I'm sorry-" she snorts, "Everyone at school always tell me that my laugh is obnoxious."

"I think it's endearing." A little awkwardly, he puts his arm around her shoulders. "Besides which, haven't we already established that Westerburg is the school of the damned?"

"Oh, trust me; it is. You just got here, but I've been dealing with the same assholes for twelve years." She sighs, nestling her head on his shoulder. "Is every school like this?"

"Pretty much," he confirms, "It's a strange phenomenon. I mean, you could go to school in some middle-of-nowhere Midwestern town and you'd be living the same hell as someone going to school in Los Angeles. The only things that vary are your locker combination and the number of days you can skip without anyone noticing."

"Damn." Veronica flicks the burnt cigarette to the side. "I don't think the world needs more than two Heathers."

He smiles. "Which is why we need Veronicas."

Veronica gasps, feigning surprise. "Is that a genuine smile I see? I feel honored."

He tries to suppress the smile, only causing it to grow. Onscreen, the blonde girl sharply instructs the boy with glasses to shut up.  
J.D. nudges Veronica's shoulder. "She's talking to you."

The best friend turns out to have been seduced to the dark side (or was she evil all along? It's never explicitly stated, but that gives them room to make fun of it.) and winds up killing both the main character and her nerdy companion, only for she herself to be killed when the movie draws to a close. Upon this, J.D. flicks a cigarette at the screen and calls bullshit.  
Despite the cheesiness, Veronica can't help but find parts of it hard to watch. It isn't impossible to see her face on the dark-haired girl who backstabs her friend, and it isn't impossible to see the boy sitting next to her as the cold-blooded killer whose face is never shown.  
As she drives home, one question repeats endlessly in her mind: _Am I any better? Am I any better?_


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I Care But Also I Don't Care: An Inner Struggle_ by Veronica Sawyer  
>  Yeah, this girl has a lot of inner conflict going on right now. It's a little hard to write that, considering the fact that she feels bad but also doesn't feel all that bad. She's really just not entirely sure what to feel right now, I guess. And I'd imagine that teenage hormones aren't making things much better for my poor bby.  
> Justice for Veronica Sawyer, goshdarnit.
> 
> Anyways, I'm also attempting to play up the whole "J.D. is a questionable person" thing right now, but I think we'll probably see him being a little bit more vulnerable these next few chapters, especially because of the obligatory expansion on his Tragic Backstory™ that must occur. Also Halloween is a thing that's coming up, so I might play around a little with that.
> 
> So yeah.  
> Enjoy!

"So, is it him?"

"What do you mean 'is it him?'"

Heather Duke rolls her eyes and leans her weight on the mallet. "Don't think I haven't noticed you zoning out all the time, smiling at nothing."  
_Tap._ McNamara lightly taps the ground to remind Duke to take her turn. If Heather Duke notices this, she doesn't acknowlege it, only continuing her assault on a half-present Veronica.  
"So I'll repeat myself: is it him?"

Veronica feebly shrugs one shoulder, reclining against a tree.  
"Fine, I'll admit that we're a thing. But we've only been out once. Nothing big."

"Nothing big," McNamara repeats teasingly, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder with a flair of melodrama. "Please. Somebody's in looove."

"Am not..." Veronica protests weakly.  
And here she goes again.  
She's been doing this a lot lately, she notices. Ever since Friday, she's been abusing her newfound ability to turn off the world. If she puts in just the right amount of concentration, she can mute the voices of the people around her as well as the one in her mind. If done correctly, she becomes entranced, only vaguely conscious of, well, anything. This ability and a newly discovered fondness for chainsmoking have served as her coping mechanisms for the past few days.

Heather Duke has to whack her in the knee to bring her back to reality. _"Veronica."_ Heather scoffs and upturns her nose. "For the last time: take your goddamn turn."

"Mhmm." Veronica drops her mallet and sinks against the tree. "You guys keep playing without me. I'm not feeling it right now."

Heather Duke shoots McNamara look as if to say "what's her problem?

"Maybe it's grief or something?" Heather McNamara suggests.

Duke snickers. "For Heather or for her virginity?"

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Low blow."

Upon Veronica's mother politely interrupting their game to inform them that they'd better leave now if they want to catch that funeral, the three decide to head out. It's a little funny how while they're headed for their best friend's funeral, their demeanor is just as casual as if they were going shopping or to school.  
That, and according to every book Veronica has ever read, funerals always take place on dark, dreary days. Today is an unusually sunny October day with clear skies and high temperatures. She has to admit that it's a little amusing when she arrives at the church and people are sweltering in layers of black clothing.

J.D., however, is clad in layers of black clothing all the time, so he doesn't break a sweat. Veronica is a little surprised to see that he decided to go, but she's happy to ditch her friends to sit in his row. He explains to her that he's actually only here to watch people's reactions. It's not exactly the kind of thing one should be saying aloud, but she's a little relieved to know that she's not alone in finding the sheer absurdity of the situation to be a little bit amusing.

She uses her turn-off-the-world technique and only catches bits and pieces of the sermon, but she remembers some of the highlights. She has to choke back a giggle when a glorified description of Heather is given and every last one of her classmates looks skeptical. She finds herself actually laughing while Mrs. Chandler attempts to read her eulogy and fails to understand her own handwriting. ("To all those affected, I can offer only my deepest... synthesizers...") All eyes turn to her, so she turns her laughter into operatic sobbing. This causes J.D. to lose his shit and he's forced to employ a similar tactic.  
J.D. is actually a little annoying throughout the whole thing. Veronica isn't exactly taking the funeral seriously, but she at least practices common courtesy. Meanwhile, he's very openly uninterested, having the audacity to roll his eyes several times throughout and refusing to sing or even pretend to pray because he's quotedly "not a big fan of organized religion."

Veronica only breaks from her dreamlike trance upon being prompted to go up and pray. She kneels shakily, and is quickly unsure of what to do. If she looks up, every last pair of eyes is on her. If she looks down, she can see Heather's closed eyes. When Veronica closes her own eyes, she can feel blood rushing to her cheeks and her heart beating faster and faster, her breathing pattern growing sporadic. What does she say? What _can_ she say?  
She could beg silently for forgiveness, but she still doesn't know if she deserves to be forgiven. She opens her eyes for some kind of sign, but all she can hear is an aching silence weighing on her shoulders and all she can see is everybody looking at her, some of her classmates shuffling impatiently. This only elevates her heart rate, makes sweat pour from her brow. She's immobile, she's trapped, she's kneeled over the body of a girl who certainly was no saint, but one who had made it through the course of her life able to say that she'd never fucking killed anyone.  
_It's my fault._  
_It's all my fault._  
God might as well just kill her now, because she's headed downwards.

"Excuse me." Somebody bumps her softly, gestures that her time is up.  
Veronica stares blankly for a few moments longer than necessary before nodding.  
She nearly slips as she gets to her feet, walks to her aisle, and sits back down. Right now, she'd very much like to go home and hyperventilate into a throw pillow. Really, she'd like to be anywhere but here, and she's getting worse and worse at hiding it. J.D. puts a supportive hand on her shoulder. This does little to help her.

She suffers through the last ten minutes and leaves the room as soon as the funeral is adjourned. Making for the bathroom, she locks herself in a stall and buries her face in her arms. She wonders how many people are able to say that they've had a panic attack in a bathroom stall at a funeral.

Two other stalls are occupied, and she waits until the sounds of clicking heels and running faucets are gone to leave her stall. Dark eye makeup is running down her face, complementing her dark clothes to make her look like some kind of demon. She hastily wipes it off with a wet paper towel, and waits a few minutes before exiting the bathroom.

She searches around for Heather's Jeep, but it's nowhere to be found. They left without her, those bitches. Veronica stomps her heel on the concrete.

"Need a ride?"

Veronica turns.  
J.D. stands behind her, dangling a pair of keys. She fakes a smile and nods.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is that the distinct scent of hormonal teenagers I smell? Why, yes! Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to another token bonding chapter!  
> This isn't anything special, just an obligatory chapter for these two to level up their relationship or something.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I posted about this on my Tumblr, but I should probably mention it here too. I'm going to be pretty busy for quite a few weeks, so don't freak out if updates start to take a little while. I promise I do intend to finish this.  
> But I digress. Enjoy!

"There is no way I am getting on that thing," Veronica declares, "I will fall and die."

J.D. owns a motorcycle. Who owns a motorcycle? And who rides a motorcycle to a funeral, for that matter?

He also doesn't seem to understand the direness of the circumstances, only laughing and prompting her to sit behind him anyways. "If you want to make an insurance plan, be my guest. But I think there's a good chance that you'll survive."

"Have you ever ridden on that with someone else?"

"Well, no, but how hard could it be?"

"Pretty damn hard considering the fact that you don't have a license or a helmet!"

J.D. points an authoritative finger at her. "Helmets are for the weak. Now get on," he insists.

Veronica groans and plops down behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing just a little too hard.

"You're- supposed to be holding on, not- performing the heimleich-" he wheezes, shaking out of her grasp.

"Sorry," Veronica mumbles with a sheepish smile. She retries.  
This time, she doesn't have a death grip around his waist, so he deems it a suitable position to instruct her to hold on and start to ride off.

Veronica remembers when she was around ten years old, and she'd lamented being the only neighborhood kid who couldn't ride a bike without training wheels. That year, she got a shiny blue two-wheeler for her birthday, and she can vaguely recall herself being overwhelmed by the speed and lack of control, causing her to crash into several trees.  
A motorcycle, she finds, is really just her little blue bicycle on steroids.  
The moment they take off, the sudden jolt forward prompts her to accidentally yell "Holy shit!" in the parking lot of a church. This is the beginning of a throughly terrifying experience, at least for the first few minutes. Not even a half mile has passed before three red lights have been ran and five curbs have been hit. Veronica isn't entirely sure if the motorcycle itself is at fault or if J.D. is just not a very conscientious driver. She's leaning towards the latter.  


Still, she actually finds that she's beginning to enjoy herself. She's not at all bothered by the wind hitting her face; it helps combat the sun blazing down on her unnecessarily large duffle coat. There's also an odd sort of freedom that comes from not concerning themselves with any traffic sign or red light.

They arrive at her place after a brief slushie run, and she promptly ditches the top layer of her clothes, leaving her in a slip dress. J.D. seems a little reluctant to leave, so Veronica gladly elects to blow off her homework and let him stay.

"Where else have you been?" she asks, reclining on the splintery porch swing in her front yard. 

"What do you mean by that?" He pokes his straw abstractedly at the mass of red slush contained by a cup in his right hand.

"As in what states?"

J.D. shrugs noncommitally. "I lost count awhile ago. Why?"

"I've never actually been out of state before," Veronica admits, "Not even to go to the beach or Disneyland or anything. My mom grew up in Cincinnati, and my whole dad's side is from here, so I've never gone anywhere more than seventy miles away."

"You're not missing much," he flatly informs her, "I don't know. If I were to make a ballpark estimate, I'd say this is my... twelfth? Twelfth or thirteenth."

"Jesus." She herself couldn't imagine, but he treats the subject with such obscurity that she doesn't think he's ever known life any other way. "Do you have a favorite?"

"No. I think the worst one was the second school in eighth grade, though. There was this prick in my math class and I... accidentally knocked him out one day; he was out for the rest of the year. They said he had a severe concussion or some shit, but nobody really knew for sure. I got really close to being expelled that time, probably would have been if I hadn't up and moved quick enough."

It's coming on again, the apathy, the turning of the Earth coming to an abrupt stop. His words enter her ears and her mind promptly erases them, firmly concludes that they were never spoken at all. What exactly is it that she doesn't want to face?  
"Yeah..."  
Veronica empties her cup and lets it hit the wood surface. She'll clean it up later.

"It's kinda funny - the older you get, the less adults notice you. Sure, I could have gotten expelled in eighth grade, but when you're seventeen and you beat up two guys in a cafeteria, nobody particularly cares."

"Kurt and Ram."

"Yeah, them. There weren't any real consequences for any of us except a detention sentence that no one showed up to serve. I don't see anybody pressing charges, so I think it's safe to assume that the teachers don't care."

"Well..." Veronica casts her gaze downward, watching bits of raspberry backwash escape her cup and sink into the cracks between the wood planks. "I mean, in light of Heather... you know..."

He snickers. "While we're on the subject of getting away with things..."

"Yeah, um..." Veronica sheepishly tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, "Hey, you didn't- you didn't know, did you?"

"Know what?"

"That-" She looks up at him earnestly, eyes wide, "That it was the wrong cup?"

She watches him stiffen. A few moments of uneasy silence ensue before J.D. shakes his head.  
"No. I wasn't entirely sure but- I thought you knew what you were doing."

Veronica squints at him. "What does that mean?"

"I thought that whichever one it was, you knew what you were doing."

"I wouldn't have-" she pauses. Had she not been thinking? Had the thought occurred to her? Had she cared?  
Whatever. Whatever; it doesn't matter now.  
"It was a mistake. It was an honest mistake. "

He nods wordlessly. Silence again, the loudest silence she's ever heard. Not really even silence; she can still hear birds chirping and sprinklers spraying faintly. But it feels more like silence, just as awkward. It might as well be silence.

"Hey, I.." J.D tentatively speaks up. "I remember Florida was pretty nice. I could take you when we graduate. Not a bad place to go for your first time out of state."

The corners of Veronica's mouth upturn slightly, not forming a smile but something close. "Maybe."

"Maybe," he repeats. "Or we could stay here. It's pretty nice here. If I had to pick a favorite, I think this would be it."

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Here's the worst. It can't be your favorite because of just me."

He shoots her a wry look. "I'm calling bullshit on 'just me. You're far more than 'just me.'"

Veronica shakes her head, watching as a middle aged man with a leash clad terrier walks by and nearly trips over the motorbike outside her driveway and is then throughly confused by its presence. She attempts to hold back a giggle, but it emerges from her throat in the form of an odd snorting noise. Now they're laughing, and whatever tension there had been between them has vanished.  
She's been so busy being confused lately that she'd forgotten to be in love, which ironically, is a confusing feeling in itself. But it's a nice kind of confusing.  
Maybe she doesn't want to understand.


	20. Chapter 20

As Veronica sees it, four kinds of people work at Westerburg High, operating on a hierarchy not unlike the student's social jungle.  
At the bottom of the food chain you havd your menial workers: the lunch ladies, the custodians. Then comes your regular run of the mill teachers, and then the higher up faculty.

And then there's Ms. Pauline Fleming, who attempts (and often fails) to be all three.  
Veronica isn't entirely sure how a dropout bohemian with a minor's in herbalism had weaseled her way into the position of guidance counselor at the beginning of junior year. But Ms. Fleming very quickly revealed her two passions in life: obnoxious floral prints and being agressively enthusiastic about everything.  
So when a "good old rap session" is being held in place of fourth period, everybody knows whose doing it is.

Veronica makes it a point to seat herself at the back of the room.

The ambient chatter comes to a halt as Ms. Fleming clears her throat. Twice.  
"Now then," she says, clasping her hands together, "I think we all know why I've gathered you here."

"Don't tell me- The aliens have landed. The apocalypse draws near. Hope is an illusion."

A voice alerts its presence beside Veronica. When she looks to the side, sure enough, J.D. is in the seat next to hers.

"Oh yeah, just so you know," she whispers, "Ms. Fleming flocks to attention like a moth to a flame. Really, you aren't obligated to take any of this seriously."

He snickers. "Wasn't planning on it."

"Veronica, is there something you'd like to add?"

Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Veronica looks up to see the room's collective eyes upon her. She feebly shakes her head.

Actually, I heartily encourage group discussion," Ms. Fleming says good-naturedly, "That goes for all of you! Veronica, why don't you start us off?"

"R-Right. Okay then."  
It's at this point that Veronica remembers that the whole party incident has left everyone who was present looking upon her with distaste. Even those hadn't been there sniggered at her in the halls this morning, so she figures word has gotten out. What can she say that people won't make fun of her for?  
"Maybe, uh, Heather realized that in order to be happy, she had to give up her power? And that the only way to do that was... uh, death..."

The silence that follows leads her to believe that she's done something wrong, but a few seconds pass before Ms. Fleming erupts into praise.

"Excellent point, Veronica!" she exclaims, clasping her hands together, "Come on, everybody- put on those thinking caps!"

"Uh..." Peter, a slight boy in an ugly turtleneck, pipes up, "Heather and I used to go out last year, but she told me I was boring. I guess I wasn't really boring; she was just dissatisfied with her life."

If J.D. holds back a laugh any longer, Veronica figures he may choke. She elbows him in the ribs.

In the opposite corner, Kurt Kelly raises his hand and begins speaking before he's called on.  
"One time, I asked Heather what her cup size is and she slapped me in the face. I never knew what I did wrong, but I guess she was just ins- insec-" Kurt looks to be struggling.

"Insecure?" Ms. Fleming offers.

Kurt nods. "Yeah, that."

"V-Very good, Kurt," Ms. Fleming says halfheartedly.

"Yeah, Kurt!" Ram Sweeney pumps his fist into the air and lets out some odd war cry.

Veronica is beginning to realize the disadvantages of group discussion.  
It isn't long until Heather is being made to sound like their lord and savior.

"I guess she never really hated me. She just hated herself."  
"I mean, she kicked me in the shins one time, but I think she was still a good person."  
"Really? She was one of my best friends."  
"Yeah? Well, she was _my_ neighbor."  
"Well, _I_ shared a gym locker with her."

"Now would be a good time for some divine power to ring the lunch bell," Veronica mutters, her gaze directed towards the ceiling.

"Are you kidding?" J.D. replies, beaming, "This is quality entertainment. Wish school could be like this all the time."

Veronica's prayers are soon answered. The lunch bell sounds and everyone begins to gather their things.

"Woah, woah, not so fast, kids!" Ms. Fleming declares, "I'm expecting those of you who haven't spoken up to come see me tomorrow." She then turns to look at Veronica. "Veronica, can I hold you here for just a second longer? Everyone else, you're dismissed."

J.D. shoots her a sympathetic glance on his way out. When everyone has exited, Ms. Fleming shuts the door.

Veronica shuffles uncomfortably in her seat. "Am I in trouble?"

"Hm? Oh no. Of course not." Ms. Fleming pastes on A voice as if she were talking to a toddler, smiling an equally condescending smile. "I know how hard this must be for you. You and Heather were very close, weren't you?"

_No._ "Oh yeah, definitely," Veronica says, though her tone is noncommittal.

"I just want you to know that I'm here for you," Ms. Fleming informs her, "And if you ever feel like there's no one you can talk to about this, just remember I'm here to help you through this. And if you could extend this message to Heather and Heather, that would be fantastic."

Veronica knows exactly what she's doing. The top of the social hierarchy supports Ms. Fleming's crusade, then everyone below is sure to follow along. She sits on her hands, trying to hide her clenched fists.  
"Thanks," she mumbles.

"Oh, and I'd hold onto that boy next to you." Ms. Fleming winks. "He's a cutie."

Veronica hopes her teacher doesn't see her gagging on her way out.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT?  
> I'M NOT DEAD. 
> 
> Yes, I apologize for the hiatus. I have been busy all this summer, but I don't have much to do this week or next, so these will probably be coming up rapid-fire. To apologize for the delay, here's a super-duper long one! You're welcome, town.  
> And yes, I'm aware that the last part of the last scene is Straight Outta The Movie™. Whoops.  
> Anyways, enjoy!

It's halfway through lunch when Heather Duke struts into the cafeteria, towards the table at which Veronica and Heather McNamara are seated, and triumphantly slams two sheets of card stock down on its surface.

Veronica coolly looks up from her diary. "Is there something you'd like to share?"

With a satisfied smirk, Heather slides the sheets towards the girls. "My dad had them designed professionally; old college friend works for Hallmark. I just got back from the copier and I think I have a grand total of 35."

After dog-earing her page and closing her diary, Veronica grabs the paper and inspects it.  
Heather McNamara reads its contents aloud: "Halloween Bash. October 31st, 8:00. Be there or be square." She raises an eyebrow. "You're holding the Halloween party this year? That was always Heather's deal."

"And I'm sure she wouldn't mind me taking over," Heather Duke snaps, folding her arms as she sinks down into a chair. "Not like she can tell me not to. It just wouldn't be fair to rob Westerburg of their annual Halloween bash. Besides, my place is way bigger than Heather's, and my TV is at least six inches wider."

"Halloween party?" Veronica repeats, "Am I obligated to go to this? I think I'm already drafted for candy duty at my place."

"Well, not that you'd know, but it's kind of a big deal," Heather explains, attempting a condescending Heather Chandler-esque tone. "But anyone who's anyone is going to be there, so it'd be kind of weird if you don't show."

Heather McNamara clasps her hands together with newfound excitement. "Are we group costuming?"

"You know it," Heather Duke confirms, "And while we're on the subject, we need to brainstorm. The witch coven from last year got some positive feedback, but I think we can step it up a notch."

Heather McNamara tilts her head. "We only got positive feedback because those miniskirts shrunk in the was-"

"Praise is praise, Heather," Duke says dismissively, "Anyways, I'm thinking Wonderland. That'd be very."

Veronica isn't shocked that Heather's impulse is literary characters, but she's suspecting that there's a thesis behind this.

"I was at the mall yesterday and I saw this adorable Queen of Hearts costume in the Claire's window."

And there it is.

"I'm employing a four-inches-from-knee rule on miniskirts," Veronica demands, "My mom wouldn't let me leave the house looking like a Hooter's girl."

Duke and Mcnamara both giggle at her, causing Veronica to shrink in her seat.

"Are you kidding?" Heather Duke says, "Believe it or not, Halloween parties are one of the easiest ways to pick up guys. Unless you're taking your boyfriend or whatever."

\---

"Absolutely not."

Veronica crosses her arms and informally plops down on the couch. "It could be fun. You don't know."

J.D. regards her, unenthused. "It could be fun, but there's a bigger chance that it will be utter shit. Thus, I am not going."

"When else are you going to get to see a ton of teenagers snogging in a clown costume?" Veronica says.  
He shoots her an incredulous look, and she sighs.  
"I'd do it for you, you know..."  


He opens his mouth to respond, closes it, and then tries again. "I'll think about it. But no promises."

"Good enough." Veronica offers a smile and a peck on the cheek.

She watches him glow for a moment then, self-conscious, anxiously change the topic. "Anyways, that seminar today sure was something."

"I mean, if by 'something' you mean 'fucked-up propaganda,' then yeah." She rolls her eyes into the ceiling. "I guarentee you that every last person in that room was either couldn't stand Heather or was terrified of her. Maybe both."

J.D. smirks. "Hey, there's Miss Sherwood, USA herself."  
A yearbook picture of Heather flickers on the TV screen before them. Veronica's stomach lurches; the story made it onto the state news channel. _First Sherwood suicide in ten years, first teen suicide in 17._  
The TV cuts to Courtney Coxswain, an obnoxiously wealthy junior and sworn enemy of Heather, drowning in melancholy as she details their "close" relationship.

"God, I can't watch," Veronica says, shielding her eyes.

 _Flip._  
Another story on Heather. This variant has Heather Duke making a magnificent speech on how Heather always inspired her to "be the best she could be."

 _"'Heather always made me want to be a better person,'"_ Veronica says mockingly, _"'Except when she made me want to vomit.'"_

_Flip._  
The exact same interview is playing on another station. Defeated, J.D. mutes Heather's weeping.  
"Guess we didn't really change a thing, huh? Heather Chandler's more popular than every now."

Veronica nods weakly. Suddenly aware of the sound of footsteps and jingling keys, she turns to look at him inquisitively.

J.D.'s eyes bulge. "You should go."

She quirks an eyebrow. "I just got her-"

"You should _really_ go," he insists.  
The lock clicks. J.D. grimaces. He fumbles around with the remote until finding a channel not displaying the tragedy of Heather. The Brady Bunch sputters on the screen.  
"Hey there, son. School get out early today?"

Veronica is graced with the unsettling presence of J.D.'s father, clad in an ugly red sweater vest. If he's aware of her presence, he does not make this known.

Bud Dean laughs an unusually loud laugh. "Well, Pop, I was sent home sick if you get my drift."  
It's at this point Veronica realizes he's outrageously stoned. She gives J.D. a bewildered look; it goes unacknowledged. 

"Goddamn flu season," J.D. remarks wryly, "Otherwise, how'd it go?"

"Horrible, horrible," J.D.'s dad replies, oddly jovial, "Some tribe of withered old bitches tryin' to stop us for terminating some fleabag hotel. All because Glenm Miller baked a brownie there back in '39." He chuckles. "You know what that sounds like?"

In unison, pop and son answer "Fucking Kansas."  
"Pack of fireworks in the boiler to set off thermals on the top story," J.D. explains, clearly uncomfortable, "Arraigned but accquited. That was a good one."

Veronica would like nothing more than to leave immediately. She feels as though she should say something, but no words come to mind.

"Well son, aren't you gonna introduce me to your girlfriend here?" J.D. asks and then answers his own question. "Dad, this is Veronica. Veronica, Dad."

"Hello," Veronica stammers, outstretching her hand and smiling weakly. Bud Dean does not make any attempt to shake it, but looks her over and nods affirmatively.

"So, what do you say I invite my little friend here for supper?" He asks, making uncomfortable eye contact with Veronica.

J.D.'s nonchalant aura barely conceals a blistering rage. He finally breaks character, muttering "Actually, Veronica was just leaving..."

"Oh, I'd love to, I really would, but..." Veronica slings her purse over her shoudler, stands abruptly and briskly makes her way to the door. "My mom's making my favorite meal tonight, actually. Spaghetti. Lots of oregano."

"Nice," J.D. says, smiling fauxly. "If I remember correctly, the last time I saw my mom, she was waving out a library window in... Texas, was it, Dad?"

Agonizing silence. Then Bud Dean stiffens, adjusts his sunglasses. "Sure was, son. Sure was."

Veronica surveys this scene, feels the tension in the air. She looks at J.D., notices the hardness in his face.  
"Right then. Welp, see you tomorrow."  
With that, she's gone.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. This is all just set-up for the next chapter, and I needed to get one up. But, uh, we all know what this leads into...

"Not too late to turn around, you know," J.D. says in a sing-song voice, sucking on the straw of an emptied Slurpee cup.

Veronica has one hand on the wheel and the other on her own cup of slush, sipping measuredly. Staring into the side mirror, she gags at her own reflection. She'd been mildly excited upon being unanimously elected to portray the titular character of Alice in Wonderland. But between the large bow affixed to her hair and the white apron that looks and feels more like a corset, she isn't exactly over the moon about it.  
"We're not far now," she says, trying to retain a bit of optimism, "We'll probably only stay for an hour. You could at least try to act a little dignified."

"You're going to talk to me about being dignified?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, "Veronica, you're wearing fishnets. _Fishnets._ "

"That's true," she admits, returning her attention to the road, "And you're going to let me suffer through that alone?"

"Not like you have to," he says, "Look, the world will still turn regardless of if you go to this party or not."

"Well, we're already here," she says shortly, pulling in next to a shiny Volkswagen. "Look, I'm not asking you to talk to anyone. The only reason I thought to bring you is so that I'll have someone to keep me sane and prevent creepy guys from feeling up my skirt."

"I feel honored," J.D. remarks drolly, throwing open the door and stepping outside.

Once again, the scene is almost exactly as Veronica expected. She finds it a little hilarious how the elegant interior of Heather's house contrasts with the chaos it contains. Tables had been set up in one corner with fancy prints serving as table mats. Glass dishes containg candy had been placed on another long table. It was clear that it had taken awhile for Heather to set everything up and it's now crumbling before her eyes.  
Most of table mats lay on the ground, and most of the candies are strewn about. One of the glass dishes is shattered, its remains lying dangerously on the oak flooring.

There's also the fact that everyone, per the norm, is drunk off their asses.  
The combination of alcohol, weed, candy, Veronica thinks, is one of the worst ideas ever to grace the Earth. With most partygoers being both intoxicated and sugar-high, it's no wonder everything has devolved into madness.

J.D. has not been present for five seconds before he turns on his heel and walks towards the door. Veronica grabs his hand and looks at him pleadingly. Sighing, he nods and revolves back around. Hand-in-hand, they enter the scene.

"Veronica, finally!"  
Veronica whirls around before Heather Duke, dressed in a magnificent red ensemble and perturbed by the pandemonium in her own house. Heather inspects Veronica's outfit and smirks. "Nice fishnets."

Veronica throws her hands up. "Could everybody just shut up about the fishnets?! 

Heather's eyes fall upon J.D., and she turns up her nose as if having smelled something rotten. "What exactly are you supposed to be?"

"Myself," J.D. mutters icily, eyes fixed upon Heather with a look that could destroy worlds.

The deadly silence that follows indicates to Veronica the need for a topic change. "Heather, have you seen Heather at all?"

"Last I checked, she'd taken a spill right into the pool with Ram," Heather Dukes replies, "Clothes on and everything; I bet she ruined her costume, that whore. You might wanna go check on her, Veronica. I don't think she's doing too well.

Veronica squints at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Ram kept grabbing her and stuff," Heather Duke says, her tone scarily apathetic, "She didn't seem too pleased with him. I mean, it wasn't like I could've done anything, but-"

"You know what? I think that's her over there. Heather!" Veronica grabs J.D. by the wrist and quickly makes for a corner. She hasn't the damndest clue where Heather was, but she's glad to have exited the conversation. She throws her back against the wall, reaching into the pocket of J.D.'s coat for a cigarette. He lights it for her, and she crosses her arms.

"Shit, I've gotta find her," Veronica says, worried. Heather Duke had always been more the type to have trouble saying no. Heather McNamara can usually fend for herself, but her not having turned up yet isn't a good sign.

"Do you see yet why I didn't want to come?" J.D. stares into space, shaking as if about to burst. "We haven't been here two minutes and here they are, already trying to pull you into their bullshit. Christ, how can you stand it?"

"I can't, actually." Veronica, aware that he's a ticking time-bomb, finally gives. "Crap, I'm sorry. This was a stupid idea. I don't wanna be here, either. She sinks to the floor, seating herself against the wall. Veronica watches two guys clad in pirate outfits dueling it out with foam sabers, knocking over a lamp in the process. Meanwhile, a kid in a rather impressive He-Man costume punches a rather large hole in the wall. Heather Duke scurries back and forth between these two events, looking as if she's about to cry.  
Veronica smiles pitifully.  
"God, I hate them."

J.D. smiles similarly. Sighing, he extends his hand down towards her. "Shall we?"

Veronica takes it, uprighting herself. Together, they attempt to navigate the mess towards an exit.  
It occurs to her at a certain point that J.D. is no longer beside her. Just as this becomes clear, something latches onto her arm and swivels her around. Heather McNamara, slightly soggy in a cute pair of bunny ears, appears strangely doleful as she faces Veronica.

"Oh, thank God you're here," Heather says, relieved, "I need your help. It's an emergency."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse as to why this is so late. I'm just a huge procrastinator. I apologize.   
> Anyways, school is starting back up and hilariously enough, I find that I update better when school is in session. Summer is this really messy, disorganized timeand it's hard to stay consistent. Something about having deadlines for school makes me more inclined to set deadlines for writing.   
> Anyways, good luck to everyone going into the new year, and enjoy!

Heather leads her beyond a glass door into the courtyard, home to an elaborate garden and an oversized pool. It's also currently home to a comatose Kurt, and likely Ram as well, though he's absent at the moment.  
Needless to say, it's not exactly how Veronica had envisioned her Tuesday night.  
"Hey, is Kurt okay?" Veronica asks with mild concern.

Heather shrugs. "I mean, he's passed out." She holds up an emptied bottle of cheap wine. "He was gonna try and pour a bottle of Thunderbird into the pool and make, like, a watering hole out of it? So we could all drink it? I mean, like, there's chlorine in pool water, so I don't really thi- Whatever. Anyways, he only poured about a quarter of it and but then drank the rest out of the bottle, so it didn't really work out."

"I can see that," Veronica says, grimacing. "I don't know, Heather. You seem to have everything under control here. What's bothering you?"

"Oh, that's why you're here," Heather replies blithely, smiling like a magazine cover, "See, they said that if I could get you out here, then they'd leave me alone."

Veronica pauses, allows herself a moment to fully digest that this is, in fact, her life. "You know what that sounds a lot like to me?"

"It's like if a puppy is humping your leg, and you give it a little bone to make it go away."

"I was thinking more like, you know, date rape."

Heather shivers. "Gosh, that makes it sound ugly."

Veronica shakes her head. "Absolutely n-"

"Great!" A retreating Heather blows Veronica a kiss. "Love ya! See you tomorrow!"

Great indeed. Veronica allows herself an eyeroll, spotting an opened package of dixie cups and shoving it into her purse. Maybe she and J.D. can get shitfaced and make up for this disaster.  
She grabs for an unopened bottle of cheap wine, feeling another hand tighten around it.  
Kurt's.  
She tries to gently unravel his fingers, but he latches onto her hand, eyes flickering open."

"Heeeeyy, 'Ronica," Kurts slurs, higher than a kite, eyes fixed on her legs, "Those are some sexy criss-cross pants."

"They're called fishn- oh, _goddamn!_ " She sighs, looks down at him pleadingly. "Please let go of me.

Before Kurt can answer, Ram finally stumbles into the scene, being dragged along by a rather unimpressed Heather Duke.

"Hea- _theer_ , you can't leave me like this," he pleads, fighting to maintain his grip around her ankle.

"Shit, Ram, I told you I can't stay," Heather Duke asserts, shaking her leg wildly in an attempt to detach him, "He-Man just punched a hole in my wall!" Noticing Veronica's presence, she breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, Veronica, do you mind?"

"Why does everyone expect me to deal with this?!" Veronica cries, throwing up her hands.

"It's just what best friends do," Heather says serenly, sauntering off into the house.  
This leaves Veronica alone with two very drunk and very horny teenage boys.

"C'mon, Veron-ka, at least a blow-y," Ram whines.

"Please?" Kurt asks, almost childlike, "Pretty please? Cherry on top?"

She knows she can think her a way out of this one; she's always been good at that. All she needs is a reason to escape.  
"Alright, you can have me," she says seductively, "But you're going to have to catch me first."

She takes off running across the yard. They make to their feet, follow after her. For being shitfaced, both of them are able to run at a relatively fast race. They gain on her slowly until it's more or less neck in neck. Ram extends his hand, grabs for her. In the nick of time, Veronica maneuvers out of the way. The boys collide with a nearby tree, knocking them out soundly.

"Ha. I'd pay to see that again." J.D. appears majestically at the top of a small hill behind her, Veronica's car in tow. "But as I may have mentioned, I'd really like to go now."

"So would I." Veronica smiles, scaling the hill. She pulls her keys out of her purse and unlocks her car, sits herself down in the passenger's seat.  
"Step on it."


End file.
